Like Candelight
by Henta1Rampag3
Summary: 10 years before the Battle of Beacon, Roman Torchwick lost everything. Betrayed by his boss and left to rot in prison, his alliance with a frail, mute girl is his only chance at reclaiming all he had lost and taking vengeance on the man that stabbed him in the back. Torchwick and Neopolitan, from the beginning to the end. M for graphic violence and dark themes. Art by Jhincx-Faust
1. Top Dog

The Maw, Day 1, 10 years before the battle of Beacon

….

It smelled like pain in here.

Reeked, more like. The smells of misery and decay practically drenched the air, hanging heavy off his shoulders. The walls, cold, metal and undecorated, echoed with cries and screams of men condemned. His bare feet tried to get a grip on the floor, coated with blood and piss as two guards in full armor dragged him by his bound, tattooed arms down the hall towards his living death sentence, one of them gripping his matted, red hair in a leather-gloved fist.

Roman Torchwick knew where he was; this place where men were sent to live while their hope was slowly crushed to death, buried deep beneath stone and ice in the northernmost reaches of Atlas' most remote island. It was a place he had only heard of in stories, in tales told by lieutenants to inspire loyalty through fear, and that did not exist on any map in all of Remnant.

The men of the Hong Zhao gang called it Di Yu, the name for Hell in some dead language from Mistral, but every thief, thug, and hired gun that was high enough up his or her respective ladder to know of it in Vale called it The Maw.

Fitting, he surmised.

But truthfully, he had no hatred for the guards, or even this place. They would be dead in time, and no one would miss them, but as he stared ahead through bloodshot, green eyes, fists clenched until the smallest drops of blood ran underneath his fingernails, only a single face filled his memory. The visage consumed his thoughts, haunted his dreams as he had been shipped halfway across remnant with a sack over his head and a gag between his teeth to rot in this pit as that fat, faunus fuck enjoyed early retirement off of the money that he, Roman Torchwick, had bled for.

The guards threw open a pair of thick steel doors, dragging Roman through them into a starkly lit, white room. The harsh lighting forced his eyes into a squint, blurring the men that stood before him.

"Bright enough in here?" he scoffed through chapped lips as his vision came into focus.

The guards stopped before two men. On the right was the taller of the pair, wearing a velvet suit and bowler hat atop his head, black with a crimson band. No hair protruded from underneath it, and eyebrows were nowhere to be found on his otherwise pale and hairless face. Slightly behind him lurked a smaller man wearing a leather apron and goggles, expression hidden behind a dirty surgical mask.

The guards dumped Roman onto the floor without ceremony and stepped back, allowing a few seconds for the first man to step forward. From his current position on the floor Roman could only see the cuffs of slacks stopping above expensive leather shoes tipped with silver armor, clean in sharp contrast to the filthy tile against his cheeks.

"Get up," the man said, calmly. Roman felt the barrel of a gun against his chin, and summoned the drive required to push himself with bound hands off the floor to his knees.

"I don't believe we've met," Roman extended his bound wrists, looking more like a man in church, "Roman Torchw…"

The sarcasm drained from his voice, the sight before him piercing him like a needle popping a balloon. The hairless man in the blood-colored suit stared down at him; the smug grin across his face made wholly unnecessary by the twinkle in his eyes and the white, modified combat cane that he leaned on with both hands, bending the dust-infused flexible alloy nigh imperceptibly.

"Give that back!"  
As if the past 48 hours hadn't even occurred, Roman surged forward, lunging for Melodic Cudgel in the man's hands. He sidestepped, delivering a metal-tipped kick to the side of Roman's jaw, and that was barely registered before the butts of rifles pounded against his ribs immediately.

"Enough," the man announced after a few seconds, "Get him in the chair and go to work, he's not our only delivery."

Roman grit his teeth as the two guards that had beat him mercilessly seconds prior hauled him up by his arms and forced him into a metal chair stained with dried blood. He struggled but to avail, his strength was all but gone. Even the small amount of aura he had been taught to summon was so weak that it wouldn't even stop a fingernail at this point.

The man in the apron knelt by the chair as the guards held Roman's arms outstretched, opening a nondescript tool box filled with a tattooist's needle and ink, a sight Roman was very familiar with. He briefly combed the considerable amount of ink already sealed into the skin of his right arm, including artistic interpretations of a Nevermore on his forearm, it's bony, bloody beak on the back of his hand, and a King Taijitu that coiled around his bicep before slithering onto his chest, eventually locating a patch of unadorned skin he deemed satisfactory.

The man in the suit maneuvered in front of the scene, studying the masterwork cane in his hands as the vibrating needle bit into Roman's flesh. Truthfully the familiar pain was a welcome distraction from his throbbing ribs as he stared unblinkingly into the face of the man defiling both his skin and his most prized possession.

"They say foot soldiers of The Black Circle crime syndicate," the man spoke, "Tattoo themselves out of loyalty."

Roman glanced at the progress on the newest, involuntary souvenir on his arm. So far, it was just a string of numbers: a zero, a six, and half of what looked like a two.

"However," he continued, "I don't think they've been very loyal to you, leaving you in my hands after you gave half your life to them. Tell me, Roman Torchwick, when did they gift you this cane? When you passed initiation? After you committed your first murder? Sold your first bag of unpurified Dust?"  
"My first murder actually," Roman spat, "Funny, if I remember correctly, he was a lot like you: bald, and totally unaware of how much pain he was about to be in."

"That so?"  
The man chuckled, the skin where his eyebrows should have been raised in amusement.

"Why so hostile? I wasn't even the one who stabbed you in the back. Now, your boss, Giovane, he's the one who sold you out; Gave me you, your weapon, and a briefcase full of pure, filtered Schnee Dust, all to play with."

Roman clenched his teeth as the needle traced across the ditch of his elbow. He wanted desperately to say something; something bitter, snarky, intelligent, but his tongue was dry, parched with the truth that the reason he was here, and not rolling in hundreds of thousands of lien bills, was because he had _trusted_ that faunus slime.  
 _Trust_ : that was a dirty word in Vale's underground, right up there with _Police_ and _Huntsman_.

The man bent down to Roman's level.

"My name is Friedrick Russet," he said, "And yours…"

Russet brought the barrel of Melodic Cudgel to Roman's burning cheek, giving it two light taps.

"…Is zero-six, two-two, one-nine-eight-one.

The buzzing of the needle stopped as the apron-clad man put his tools back into the container, and Roman witnessed the numbers, shiny black etched into the swollen, red skin beneath the wing of his Nevermore.

"Welcome to The Maw, Zero."

…

The guards threw him through the door, slamming it closed against the bottom of his foot moments after he hit the floor.

"Fuck!" Roman hissed, but didn't even bother to grab his foot. This wasn't his first stint in prison; he knew he had to look as tough as possible to survive in here. The only clothing he had were the slacks he wore, and the Grimm tattoos were already just targets for whatever bloodthirsty Hong Zhao and White Fang that were imprisoned here to take aim at that identified him as Black Circle.

Ex-Black Circle dishonorably discharged, that was.

He stood, carefully, and took a look around the room described by the guards that had dragged him here as his "Home away from homes."

Well, there were some exposed, broken pipes in the corner of the cell about ten feet away, the only light came from a single vent in the ceiling, the only furniture was a single, filthy toilet and a few rough bedrolls scattered about the cold floor, and the stained metal walls certainly didn't compare to the Atlesian floral-print in his penthouse in Vale…. Which was probably being ransacked right about now.

You know what? To Hell with looking tough.

Roman threw his fist at the wall with a roar, and the metal dented under what little aura he had produced through sheer fury. That was _his_ penthouse, _his_ cane, and _his_ Dust. That fucking faunus, Giovane, had given it all to him and then ripped it all away, and why? What had he done? He had been loyal to the Black Circle since he had been a fucking _kid_. The deal had been to split the Dust fifty-fifty, and the next thing he knew he was on a boat to hell.

The only other occupant of the room spared a glance his way, an ancient man, with a beard like sheep wool and leather skin.

"What are you looking at, grandpa? Huh?" Roman taunted, slamming the wall again with a loud, metallic bang, "You stay on your side, or I'll break your arthritic legs!"

The old man shrugged his bony shoulders, once, lightly, before looking away.

"That's what I thought," growled Roman. He stomped to the exposed pipes, on the old man's side of the cell, gripped, and tugged. There was a faint groan, but the rusted metal did not give.

"Oh, fantastic."  
So, exhausted, sore, famished, and on the verge of either tears or a violent meltdown, Roman couldn't tell which, he gave up for now and slumped against his wall of the cell, dragging along a bedroll to sit on.

He had to get out. Not because this was one of the cruelest fates imaginable, not because, despite his criminal ties, he was ultimately undeserving of such a fate, but because Giovane Verde had to die.

He was a Walrus faunus, if that was even possible. Beady, black eyes complete with whiskers and tusks that protruded from sweaty, meaty jowls. At one time Roman had looked up to that face, the only man that had ever given him anything to call his own, even if it had been nothing but a scarf to wear around his arm that meant that the backpack he carried across Vale twice a day was full of narcotics, Dust, guns, or all three, because the cops never noticed kids. Not even Huntsmen noticed kids.

Eventually that scarf had become food; food became a place to stay. A place to stay had become his own ink, and his own ink had become his very own fancy cane and the training he needed to break every bone in a man's body with nothing but said cane and his bare fists.

And now he had nothing. His father had not been a good man, but he was right about one thing: You could never, _ever_ trust a faunus.

Roman stared disdainfully at the number, still fresh, on his right arm beneath the Nevermore's wing; one day, he would look back on it and remember only the sound of Giovane's tortured screams when he climbed out of this festering wound on the face of Remnant and gave that fat faunus exactly what he deserved.

But he was weak at the moment and, perhaps most importantly, he was not yet familiar with the layout of The Maw; the hood over his head until he had already been dragged inside hadn't allowed for the best view. So he would bide his time; he would rest, recover, then observe, plan, and escape, and in so doing, become the only man to ever escape The Maw with his life.

He closed his eyes, attempting to rest while he could, but before long the door swung open and someone was tossed inside the cell, interrupting Roman's thoughts. He clenched his teeth: another cellmate? Were they all just crammed together like livestock in here? He opened his eyes, ready to stare down and intimidate his newly discovered cellmate, but the sight that greeted his weary eyes was not anything akin to what he expected.

A young girl, not any older than ten, scurried frantically along the floor, pale limbs spider-like as they protruded from a rag that had been a dress she had long since outgrown. Her long, filthy hair, a dark shade of brown, obscured her face as she huddled in the farthest corner of the cell, where she sat, unmoving.

The old man paid her no mind, but Roman could not look away.

The Maw was a place for criminals, people who needed to disappear, not small children! Why was she here? Was she tossed in here for the sick amusement of the prisoners? Because, if _she_ was what Russet thought would satisfy Roman's baser needs, he was insulted.

What could she have she possibly done to anyone? Though her face was obscured, the number on her frail arm was long since healed; she had been in here for a long time. As he stared, wondering, the girl shifted, and as the hair fell from her face two eyes stared back, the left chocolate brown, the other a pale white.

Roman didn't break eye contact, not because he was particularly worried about looking tough in front of a child, but because he hadn't figured out what to feel; those eyes were unlike anything he had ever seen: like precious jewels in a bucket of trash. The girl blinked, once, and then both eyes were a shade of pink as they met his from across the dimly lit cell. Roman jolted, but quickly recovered.

"What are you staring at kid?" he muttered defensively.

The girl recoiled, as if struck, and her eyes blanked white before she retreated back behind her hair, pulling her scraped legs even closer to her body.

And there she stayed.

…

The Maw, Day 5

…

Two meals a day, morning and night, and that was using _meal_ loosely. Roman scowled visibly at the discolored sludge deposited on his tray as he trudged through the cafeteria; the din of various howls and banter around him echoing off of the featureless walls. The room was large enough to seat several hundred prisoners, with rows of long tables on either side of the room. Along the periphery, masked guards watched from the shadows, most of them armed with stun batons and some with submachine guns.

Roman wondered how much the men behind those masks got paid to live on a remote, frigid island with not one bar or strip club for miles, guarding hundreds of men with violent pasts and nothing to lose.

The motley assortment of prisoners seated in the cafeteria was diverse, but most fell into a few basic categories; as Roman trudged aimlessly forward, looking for an unoccupied table seemingly in vain, he was surrounded by mostly skeletal, broken shells of men, their postures hunched and condensed and their eyes murky like windows unwashed.

Occasionally he would spot a Black Circle syndicate member, covered in Grimm tattoos like his, but in The Maw that allegiance had no meaning; most kept close to the shadows, avoiding eye contact with anyone, even himself. The men of the Hong Zhao gang however, inked from the shoulders down with a full-body tattoo unique to each man, were never alone, always walking or eating in groups of three or four. Lastly there were the Faunus, who stuck together in packs taking up entire tables. Most were White Fang, but there was a clear difference between the older ones who had once been peaceful protesters and the younger ones, covered in claw mark tattoos and usually either taunting any humans that got within earshot, or starting fights.

And then there was her: the girl. Most of the time back in the cell she barely moved, but Roman would see her in the cafeteria picking at the scraps of food that fell to the floor. Far to his left, now as he walked, he saw her underneath a table full of Hong Zhao. She darted and weaved between their feet, scraping the floor and bringing whatever she found to her mouth behind her tangled tresses. Since last night, Roman had begun to think that he was already broken, and that the mysterious child was just a hallucination caused by his shattered mind; not one other prisoner seemed to notice her or pay her any attention, not even the silent old man that also resided in his cell.

So lost in thought he was that suddenly he collided with someone walking in the opposite direction, the contents of his tray spilling all over his exposed torso.

"Dammit!" Roman stumbled backward, snarling at the sight of his nightly meal running down the Beowulf skull design on his chest, "Are you blind, punk!? Watch where y…"

The sight of the massive faunus before him derailed that train of thought; seven feet tall, at least, with White Fang lieutenant tattoos and yellow eyes barely constraining visible contempt. A pair of dog ears sprouted from a mop of greasy brown hair, and the words _TOP DOG_ were spelled out across the corded muscles of his exposed chest in healed, knotted scars.

Well, this wasn't good.

"So," Roman began, taking a step back as the faunus continued to glower at him, "Just going out on a limb here, but your name wouldn't happen to be Top Dog, would it?"

The cafeteria, or at least the tables that had witnessed the collision, had seemingly fallen silent, quietly observing as the faunus' thin lips curled into a snarling grin. His tray, which he had been holding onto this whole time, was suddenly slammed against the nearest table occupied by a pack of White Fang, snapping the flimsy metal in two and eliciting a chorus of shouts and hollers from the table's occupants.

"I am Top Dog!" growled the colossal faunus, beating his chest as his cohorts cheered, pounding their fists on their table and jeering incoherently at Roman.

A few prisoners rose from their tables and began to surround the two, cutting off all escape. Roman glanced around, boxed in by a crowd of mostly Hong Zhao, expressionless as they prepared to judge both combatants. Through the faces surrounding him he could see the guards in the corners of the cafeteria, watching the proceedings but appearing in no hurry to leave their posts.

A flash caught his eye; it lasted no longer than a blink, but his eyes were quickly drawn to the unnamed girl, crouched between the feet of a taller White Fang, staring at Roman with eyes brown and pink.

How did she get there? She had been halfway across the cafeteria just seconds ago-

"Human!" Roman's attention was returned to the very intimidating dog faunus in front of him, "Black Circle filth! I'll skin you screaming and wear your tattoos like a coat!"

The White Fang in the crowd roared.

"Top Dog! Top Dog!" they chanted.

Roman rolled his eyes, making sure his opponent saw the gesture.

"Alright," he laughed, hoping some pre-fight banter would give him time to prepare himself for what was to come, "You gonna bark all day, little doggy? Or are you gonna bite?"

The howl that split Top Dog's lips was enough to make even the most experienced Huntsman quake, ripping through the entire cafeteria and echoing off the walls, and as he surged forward Roman knew that he would have to think on his feet.

He dodged out of the way, adrenaline pumping, delivering two well-practiced kicks to his opponents' shin and kneecap while the crowd cheered and hollered.

Only, his opponent was not the one hurt.

Roman recoiled, grasping his bare foot as his bone reverberated after bouncing off Top Dog's armor-like muscles. He barely had time to roll out of the way as Top Dog threw a fist directly into the floor he had occupied a moment ago, throwing pieces of shattered concrete in all directions.

"Shit!" Roman swore as one such piece sliced through his aura and into his bicep as it arced through the air; the standard Black Circle combat training, which relied on countering an opponent using a cane or umbrella handle, was useless here; not only was he unarmed, but he wouldn't last long enough to wear down an opponent like this through counters and defensive moves.

With a grunt, Top Dog swung his bloodied fist at Roman's face, and this time he didn't have time to dodge. The blow connected with his chin, sending him stumbling back into the White Fang members in the crowd; his aura took the blow, but that didn't mean the force throwing his neck back hadn't burned like fire. Two White Fang caught him by the arms, spinning him around roughly. One, a fox faunus missing half his teeth grinned wickedly, rabbit punching Roman's still dazed skull once before shoving him back into the fight, cackling.

Top Dog caught him as he tried to regain his balance, head ringing. With little effort, Top Dog hoisted Roman into the air by his hair and his wounded bicep, the agony forcing a cry from his lips. Somewhere, through the haze of pain, he realized he had to end this quickly; he was not dying here, after only five days in this pit at the ends of the world, at the hands of some _mutt_.

No, he would survive.

He opened his eyes, face to face with a wildly grinning Top Dog as he was being lifted higher into the air, and jabbed his thumb straight into one of the yellow eyes that, until that moment, believed themselves the victor; the survivor.

It was like pressing a cherry against a cutting board; there was a wet _pop_ followed by an ear-piercing shriek. With his free hand, the hand the wasn't currently thumb-deep in the skull of a freakishly enormous White Fang lieutenant, Roman pried his hair loose from Top Dog's grip. Before he fell to the floor, he planted his foot on his opponent's chest, gripped the back of his head, and using every muscle in his starved, beaten body, swung his other leg into a sweeping high kick, right into Top Dog's corded neck.

The violence drew forth a new round of roars from the crowd, Roman landing and wiping blood from his mouth as Top Dog met the floor face-first, covering his bleeding eye socket and coughing as he attempted to scream through his pulverized throat.

It was time to finish this.

The White Fang in the crowd booed and attempted to distract Roman, but they dared not interfere with a one-on-one prison fight; even in The Maw honor was something that, apparently, was taken to the grave. Roman stalked towards his opponent as Top Dog struggled to his knees; he deserved credit for trying, but this was a real fight, in the real world, and trying just wasn't going to save him.

He threw a punch but Roman grabbed it at an angle, twisting the limb and hammering the palm of his hand against the back of the elbow and cracking the bone with a grisly _snap_.

He maneuvered himself behind his tortured victim, and though it was perhaps slightly narcissistic, allowed himself a few seconds to listen to the strained half-breaths and choked screams of the defeated foe that had nearly killed him.

"Good show, Top Dog," Roman sighed, wishing he had a cigar to calm his adrenaline. He supposed killing would have to do in the moment.

"But," he said, grabbing one of his opponent's canine ears, "I guess you're all out of tricks, huh boy?"

The crowd fell silent as Roman whipped Top Dog's head against the edge of the nearest table, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The fourth time dented the table; the fifth splattered hot blood all over the trays of three Hong Zhao, and the sixth time? The Black Circle called it _sending a message_.

The crowd was silent as a tomb as Roman backed away, standing over his fallen foe, cracked skull jammed into the metal of the table as blood ran from the now-uncovered eye socket, pooling on the floor, drop by drop.

"Nothing like some good old-fashioned ultra-violence," Roman muttered through ragged breaths. His heart thudded in his chest, pulsing along with the ringing in his skull and the burning along his scalp where his hair had been grabbed. He almost raised a hand to his bleeding bicep, but instead minded the crowd.

He had won; and if he was to have any hope of escape from The Maw, he had to capitalize on it. The silence around him spoke more than words ever could about the respect that fear commanded in his present situation. He whirled, staring directly at the White Fang gathered at the edge of the crowd; the fox faunus who had punched him before now gazed seemingly through Top Dog's bleeding corpse, eyes hazy and unfocused while his hand rested on his opposite arm.

"You!" Roman jabbed a finger at the faunus, and suddenly hazy eyes became focused and alert.

"Yeah! You, rodent!" Roman spat, "You wanna step up? Didn't you join the White Fang to kill big, bad humans and avenge your comrades?"

The faunus shook his head subtly.

"No!?" Roman taunted, "Then say it! Say you don't want to fight me, rat! And then maybe I won't rip out what teeth you have left!"

The faunus mumbled, eyes wandering to the floor once more.

"Don't be shy now, foxy, speak up," Roman mocked, slowly raising a hand to his ear taking a step towards the cowering faunus.

"I… I c-can't…"

He started to confess, he really did, but the crowd was disrupted; the rows of prisoners behind him branching off as something pushed through their midst. At this, the fox faunus quickly retreated out of the way with his brethren, revealing around four or five guards in full riot gear, carrying gunblades and one a minigun complete with pounds of ammo strapped across his armored torso.

Roman glanced to the edges of the cafeteria, and saw the usual guards resume their normal patrol routes, seemingly not paying the commotion any mind.

The crowd has almost completely dispersed, leaving Roman alone as the guards approached, himself clearly their intended goal.

"Hey now," Roman began, "The mutt started it."

The humor was lost. Two helmeted guards grabbed both his arms and threw him into the nearest table, impacting his stomach as he cursed from the pain.

Before Roman could muster any meaningful protests a familiar suit, the color of blood, strode into view, followed by two guards aiming their gunblades at any surrounding prisoners. The other two held him down by the arms, and again he winced as a leather glove gripped his fresh wound. At this, Friedrick Russet chuckled lightly, Melodic Cudgel resting on one shoulder in plain view.

"Sorry we started without you," Roman spat, one cheek pressed against the table beneath him, "You missed a real… bash."

Russet raised his bare brows.

"It's quite alright, Zero," he said, "I watched the whole tussle from the safety of my office; some of the best bloodletting I've seen hit The Maw in years, on that I congratulate you."

Roman shrugged, at least as much as he could in the guards' unyielding grip.

"He started it, I just-"

"Killed him, yes," Russet finished, "And, that's why I came out here with your fancy cane, to tell you that, though I enjoyed your duel thoroughly from a spectator's perspective, Vytal Festival-worthy as it was, I didn't much care for the ending."

"Too bloody for you?" Roman guessed, trying with all the patience he had to sound like he gave a shit.

Russet didn't respond immediately, seeming unfazed by Roman's sarcasm. He calmly strode to Top Dog's body, poking the mutilated skull with the tip of Melodic Cudgel.

"Top Dog here," he started, "Was delivered to me by your loyal friends in The Black Circle. They dumped him on my doorstep with a few other faunus that I don't remember the names of, and then he was my responsibility; it took seven men to hold him down while he was tagged."

Roman swiveled his head around, looking any sign of aggression in any of the surrounding prisoners' faces. A new crowd had gathered, but they stayed back, none of them particularly focused on the proceedings, opting to steal glances to satisfy their morbid curiosity. Russet was slowly prodding Top Dog's head free of the table, and two of his four guards were holding Roman down with only a single hand each on their weapons. There was one guard with the minigun, but if every prisoner in the cafeteria were to join forces they would have a chance at freedom.

Unfortunately it looked as if none of them were willing to take that bet.

"In a week's time," Russet continued, "The leader of the White Fang was going to pay me a healthy sum of lien to get his top Captain's son…"

As he walked back towards Roman he swung Melodic Cudgel in a sweeping gesture over Top Dog's body.

"…Returned, safely and alive, and in doing so deliver me a few Hong Zhao officers, whom I was planning to sell back to their families, or The Black Circle, whoever offers more. Are you getting what I'm trying to say, Zero? Is it all sinking in?"

Roman fixed Russet's eyes with the most hateful glare he could.

"You sell people…" Roman said, "I never did like slave traders."

"That doesn't mean much coming from a murderer, a thief, and a traitor, does it?" Russet wagged a manicured finger inches from Roman's face, "I'm no slave trader, I'm just… a businessman, selling product to whoever will pay."

"I might be a murderer," Roman spat, "But at least I don't run a human farm."

For a brief moment, both men's eyes met in a silent duel; a crossing of swords in the space of a few seconds, fought in silence with rapiers of glass.

Russet sighed as he left Roman's field of view, throwing Melodic Cudgel back over his shoulder as he sauntered around to his feet.

"You should consider yourself lucky, Zero," he concluded, "There's always a chance that one of the however-many-people you screwed over will buy you out of here for some payback."

Roman felt the cuffs of his slacks being rolled up to his knees, and a chill crept up his spine as a few possible scenarios manifested in his imagination; none of them had happy endings.

"But I wouldn't count on it," Russet continued from behind him, "You'll die forgotten and alone in here, I'll make sure of it."

It was indescribable; he could have said it felt like daggers, or a hot iron, or his father's belt, and none would have been accurate as Melodic Cudgel was brought to bear on the backs of his exposed calves with a meaty, wet _thwack_.

Roman bit back his scream of agony, clenching his teeth even as a growl escaped his lips. The pain started above his Achilles tendons, burning up through his legs and feet like liquid fire. For a moment he felt the alloy of his own weapon rest against the tender bruises before striking again.

 _Thwack_.

Escape was impossible, and all he could do was clench his still-sore jaw to keep from screaming. He tried to stare straight ahead into the crowd, but he couldn't focus on anything through the pain; all he saw were hunched shoulders and downcast faces as he felt his wounds open.

The wind whistled, and Roman braced for the blow, but only when no pain arrived did he realize it was a feint, only to be followed by a real swing, opening the wounds further upon which he felt the first trickles of hot blood down his ankles.

Far ahead, through the sea of legs, he saw the mysterious girl; her eyes, pink and white, shined like beacons through his rapidly blurring vision, torches lighting the way through the fog that threatened to consume him.

 _Thwack._

So it was all he could do: He clung to them, the eyes, the only things in this filth that shined, the only torches in the shadows. They shifted colors as she blinked, watching him as he watched her, and as he was tortured, finally screaming out in anguish, she watched him still.

And as the inescapable pain became a rhythm, Roman's head began to pound, and his fingertips went numb from the loss of blood, something changed in those eyes. Not the colors, but the shades, of pink, brown, white, and gray, went alight; like candlelight after years in the dark.


	2. Neopolitan

**When I decided to write a story in honor of two of our favorite villains, I didn't expect it to get his much support as quickly as it did; thank you everyone who's favorited, followed, and reviewed! I have some cool ideas for this story, and I will try to get chapters out on a semi-consistent basis. I read and internalize every single review, and am grateful for everyone who takes time to say what they enjoyed about my work, what they think could be improved, or what they'd like to see. Without further delay, enjoy.**

 **…**

 ****He didn't crawl.

No matter how badly it hurt.

Limping back to his cell, the backs of his legs bloodied and bruised, a pair of guards impatient at his back, it made Roman want to try his luck then and there; he might just succeed. If he didn't, he'd go down fighting, and this nightmare would be over, one way or another.

But there were some bets you just didn't take, and this was the time to fold his hand and wait. No matter how long it took, Giovane Verde needed to know that he made his last bet the day he stabbed Roman Torchwick in the back.

So, he decided to live another day, and limped all the way back to his cell. He cursed, shivering as waves of agony rocked his body with every step, but he made it back, standing, on his bloody feet, only for the guards to kick him through the door where he landed in a heap.

The door shutting with a _boom_ muffled Roman's dejected muttering as he attempted to rise.

"Beats me with my own cane…" he breathed through clenched teeth, "Calls me a number, disresp- agh!"

His swollen calves protested under pressure and he fell on his side with another curse.  
Roman lay still for a few moments, letting the pain subside to a dull throbbing ache before crawling to his bedroll on his side of the cell.

The girl watched him.

Across the room, seated on her own pile of rags, she watched with bright, curious eyes, white and pink. Until today just the briefest of eye contact had been enough to have the girl cowering, but when Roman, annoyed, glanced in her direction she demonstrated no intention of looking away.

He couldn't be bothered with either of his cellmates at the moment, whether it was the small child that was too interested in something, or the old man who wasn't interested in anything. He sighed angrily, ignoring the child and lying down gingerly on his bedroll, facing the wall.

There was nothing to do in The Maw besides sleep, fight, and stare at walls, and now sleeping was looking to be impossible; he had only been lying down for a minute before the rough fabric burned against his exposed wounds, and pulling his filthy slacks down over them wasn't an option unless he wanted to lose his legs to infection.

He groaned as he rolled over, eyes flitting open in a pain-induced daze as his leg muscles protested. He glimpsed the girl rising to her feet, slowly, cautiously, and immediately shot upright.

"Don't you come any clos-Agh, Fuck!"

The threat was lost as he bit back further curses, the sudden jolts of pain pulsing through his calves and ankles overtaking all thought.

The girl flinched, eyes going white, but she didn't look away, even as Roman hissed and growled as the pain subsided. He opened his eyes, and watched as the girl slowly reached shaking, dirty fingers into a pocket of her ruined dress.

Roman had to laugh: dryly, humorlessly.

"Fantastic," he chuckled, "Here lies Roman Torchwick: stabbed to death by some kid in a prison that smells like shit and tears!"

The girl glanced at the floor, and her hand stopped for a moment.

Roman sighed, "If you're going to kill me kid, could you get on with it? This place is really starting to get to me, and I _really_ don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

The girl withdrew her hand, a wad of white cloth clutched between her fingers. Against the filth that covered her dress and limbs, the pure, unblemished white of the cloth seemed to glow brightly as she walked through the narrow rays of light coming through the vents in the ceiling.

It was gauze. In a place with no beds, no lights, and no hope, the girl had managed to get her hands on medical supplies, probably stored in an off-limits location accessible only to the staff of The Maw. Roman's eyes widened, and he flicked his attention to the old man; by all rights there should have been a bloody fight going down right now, all three occupants of the cell tearing each other to pieces over a precious resource, but instead the man dozed softly as the girl approached Roman, growing more cautious with every step she took.

He relaxed his posture slightly, staring in wonder at the gauze in the girl's hands.

"Where did you get that?" he wondered aloud, " _How_ did you get that?"

The child's lips twitched, but not a syllable was formed. Her multichromatic eyes blinked between several variations of pink, brown, and white, staring at the wall as she stopped moving. A few seconds passed, and it seemed only then did the girl remember what she had been doing, and closed the distance between herself and he, silent still.

"What's your name? Can you answer that? Do you even understand me?" he pressed.

The silent girl knelt before his battered legs, unfolding a strip of gauze with shaky fingers, but before she touched him Roman swiped it out of her hands with practiced deftness.

"I can take care of this myself," he said, staring her down as he adjusted his position carefully, "You haven't even answered my questions you little brat."

The girl kept silent, though again her lips moved briefly, as if she wanted to speak but was unable. Possibly she was too shy, too frightened, or maybe she had a bad cold; he didn't particularly care. Now that he was effectively crippled for however long it took his legs to heal, he had all time in the world to play twenty questions with the girl later, and he turned his attention to the gauze in his hands.

Using his teeth he unwound the sticky, sterile bandages and attempted to bind his wounds, though it proved to be more difficult than he anticipated. He had to shift his legs painfully to see the areas, and the bandages kept slipping. As he was, Roman could not hold the bandages tight enough against his swollen skin, and every time he lost his balance and they slipped on the wounds he had to grimace and grind his teeth to keep from screaming, which would undoubtedly draw attention from whatever guards were patrolling the hall.

The girl watched the process for several minutes, opting to keep away; when she tried to approach Roman shooed her away impatiently. Finally, while he was taking deep breaths to wrestle his frustration and pain under control before it was too late, she extended a hand, stopping several inches from his leg. He met her eyes, deep brown and a rich, rosy pink, like chocolate and strawberry.

With a quiet huff Roman held the bundle of gauze out to the girl, the white now stained with flecks of blood and scabs. She took it immediately, small hands wrapping his wounds with gentle precision. The pressure of the bandages tightening hurt at first, but as the blood flow was restricted his skin seemed to cool off, and the throbbing dulled, allowing him to breathe and focus.

The girl looked older up close. She finished binding his right leg and signaled him to shift the other, and while he complied he studied her musculature; at first he had thought her to be around ten years, but up close it was obvious that the girl was closer to her mid teens. Her body, though emaciated, was simply far smaller than her development suggested it should be: less than five feet in stature with the shoulder width of a nearly fully matured girl.

Maybe the lack of sunlight had robbed her of the chance to reach full height, but if that were the case she would have been in The Maw for years.

She even bound his bicep that had been maimed during the fight, and when she was finished with her work she stepped away, leaving Roman to observe his bound limbs. He ran his hands over the bandages; they were well wrapped, she had done this before. Though the pain was hardly gone, the layers of medical tape made it possible for him to finally put pressure on his wounds, meaning he could sleep, not to mention he might now have a chance at avoiding all kinds of nasty infections.

So he pulled his slacks down over them, hiding the bandages from any guards who would see them during breakfast the next day. He looked up at the petite girl, who stood almost like a statue. Bandaging him had been something to occupy the time if nothing else, so Roman could hardly blame her for not knowing what do with herself now that her task was complete.

"Thanks," he muttered. He hated that word; it always felt like he owed someone something every time he said it.

The girl nodded weakly, blinking the colors of her irises around so they were opposite one another, strawberry and chocolate. Roman wasn't sure if it had been intentional or not.

"I have nothing to give you," he said after the girl did not make any moves to return to her bedroll, "Why do you do that with your eyes, anyway? If you could stop, that would be great, because the last thing I want to be thinking about while I'm locked in this dump is ice cream."

She looked visibly confused.

"Your eyes? They're like Neapolitan ice cream," Roman explained, speaking slowly, "Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry, get it? Fuck, now I can practically taste it."

She looked away, showing no visible response otherwise.

"Maybe that's what I'll call you: Neapolitan!" Roman laughed curtly, "Neo for short! Seriously, _Neo_ , what's your name? You patch me up after watching me murder someone, but you won't even tell me your name?"  
The small smile that spread across the girl's face was the last thing he had ever expected to see; a slow, subtle curling of pale lips, and for a moment he was caught off guard. She looked at him and nodded, not returning her gaze to the floor even after several seconds.

"Okay, you really don't want to tell me?" Roman shrugged, "Neopolitan it is then, and that's final. Nice to meet you, Neo, Roman Torchwick's the name. I would tell you to call me Roman, but what's the point if I know you're just going to stare at me from across the room and do that ice cream thing with your eyes?"

Neopolitan, as the strange girl had been recently christened, dropped her grin, lips twitching again, and this time he could make it out:

 _Roman_.

He supposed that subconsciously seeing his name pronounced hundreds of thousands of times in his life by various people had made him almost able to hear it.

"Yeah, Roman," he confirmed, "Now put some breath into it; it's not that hard, Neo, I'm pretty sure we have all the time in the world to…"

Malnourished limbs shook slightly as her bottom lip trembled, and though it took a few seconds of studying her efforts, Roman felt like he had just envisioned the first few pieces of a puzzle fitting together in his head.

"You… _can't_ speak," he said, almost to himself, "Can you?"

He never got an answer, verbal or otherwise. Her eyes went white as she whipped her head towards the cell door, and as she scurried away in apparent terror, Roman could hear the muffled footfalls of approaching guards in the hall seconds before the door swung open.

Two guards, faces hidden behind masks entered the cell, one of them immediately leveling a gunblade carbine at Roman's chin.

"Hey, take it easy!" Roman exclaimed, "I don't want to have to kill anyone else tod-"

"Shut the fuck up, worm," the guard grunted.

Behind him the second guard reached a hand out for Neopolitan. She had taken several steps back, palms flat against the wall and eyes focused dead ahead, even as her wrist was taken and roughly cuffed to the guard's belt. She seemed to freeze, barely reacting save for the desperate movement of her tiny feet as she was briskly led out the door.

Roman was watching the proceedings; something indescribable twisting in his gut even as his thoughts scattered like ripples across a pond. Someone had purchased her, Neopolitan, from this pit, perhaps her family? It seemed too unlikely; she had been in here so long-

 _Thwack_

"Agh! Fuck!"

Roman clutched his wounded bicep after the first guard brought the butt of his weapon down on it, snickering to himself and turning for the cell door.

"None of your business," he said, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving the cell empty sans a comatose old man and a snarling Roman Torchwick.

Several seconds went by before he screamed a curse, followed by another, and another, and a string of the foulest oaths he knew from multiple languages spoken in Vale's underworld.

"Welcome to The Maw, _Zero_!" he mocked in a nasal pinch, "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ you all! Verde, Russet, piece of shit helmet-headed mooks, I'll kill you!"

"Shhhhhhh."

Roman visibly recoiled, eyes darting to the old man in the corner of the cell. Though his eyes were closed, he had propped himself against the wall, bony hands tucked against his knees.

"Finally, he speaks!" Roman exclaimed, applauding exaggeratedly in an effort to hide his embarrassment.

"I said shush, boy," the old man said disinterestedly, in a voice like a waves beating against the coast.

"I'm trying to sleep."

Roman gaped for a moment while he tried to find words.

"There's no shortage of time for that, you old coot," he dismissed, "What are you going to do? Kill me? I might just let you if I get anymore irritated."

The man chuckled, the same way he had the day Roman had first been tossed into The Maw.

"Oh, I can't be bothered," he said grinning, seemingly content, "The Maw will take care of that once you try and escape."

"Watch me," Roman snapped, "Maybe if you're quick enough you can follow the trail of bodies to freedom when I'm finished!"

At that the old man opened his eyes and spared Roman a sideways glance.

"Good luck."

Roman huffed indignantly, but he couldn't deny the doubt starting to creep inside his head. He looked at the weathered creases all over the old man's body, and wondered how long he had been in here, and if he had once tried to escape. It had only been five days and already his legs were out of commission for a few months at best, what if this was the end? Was he defeated?

The feeling of dread was crushing, like icy fingers gripping his heart, and he knew that if he dwelled on it any longer he would lose his will to fight. It would not end here for Roman Torchwick; not within these lightless, worn steel walls, not while Giovane Verde was drinking bottles of Mistralian wine that cost thousands of lien per bottle halfway across the world, or wherever that tusked, faunus scumbag had hightailed his traitorous ass. Not while Friedrick Russet was twirling _his_ cane, the cane that Roman had _earned_ , wearing that smug, hairless grin while he ran a meat market as the oh-so-noble Huntsmen turned a blind eye.

What did he have to lose? How could he fall farther than this?

"She liked you."

The old man's tones broke the silence, and Roman was ripped from the onset of his manifesting despair.

"Why is there a kid in here?" he asked, "I thought I was the only one who noticed her until the guards decided to crash our little meet-and-greet."

"She'll be back," the old man whispered. He was silent for beat, as if considering whether to elaborate or not.

"Kids are rare, and they usually get bought quick, but she stays. They take her, but she always comes back; been here for years, never says a word, and I don't think she can… but she noticed you. She liked you."

"Yeah… might have had something to do with the fact that I butchered some White Fang animal in the cafeteria," Roman said, "You might have seen it, earlier?"

The old man let out a sharp wheeze.

"See it?" he mused, " _Everyone_ in The Maw saw what you did, and if they didn't see it, they heard it. You kids with the Grimm tattoos, you're all pretty decent fighters, not that I'll ever understand why anyone would want to disrespect themselves with drawings of those monsters."

"The Black Circle doesn't fear the darkness," Roman defended, glancing at the various Grimm creatures sealed into his skin, "We embrace it. We understand that the world is unforgiving and cold, and the Grimm are always going to be a part of that world, _this_ world, so better to embrace darkness we can't control; study it, learn from it, and use it to become powerful."

"You memorize that?" The old man let out a hoarse laugh, "They tattoo that on the inside of your skull? I fought in the Great War when I was barely 16, back when war was about honor, and pride, not skulking around in the shadows stabbing people in the back that you don't like."

"Shut up," Roman growled.

"You ever seen a Beowolf up close?" the old man continued, "It won't care if you have a skull that looks like its mother needled on your chest, it would rip you to pieces."

"Shut! Up!"  
Roman slammed his fist against the wall behind him, the boom echoing around the cell and silencing the old man, if only for a moment. He shook his head when he spoke again, quietly and calmly.

"If that is true," he said, "Use your darkness, use your _fear_ , all that you've been taught, and see if you can take your freedom. You're rude, loud, and draw a lot of attention, whereas your tattooed friends in the shadows are as silent as they are unwilling to help you."

Roman suddenly found his throat parched for words.

"The only thing about you, that I have yet to figure out, is why our small, mute friend thought you were worth smiling over."

Eventually the old man slumbered once more. The hall outside the cell was silent, and what little light there was dimmed as would dusk. Neopolitan had not returned, and Roman found himself staring at the rust spots on the ceiling, shadows twisting in his thoughts while gnashing teeth of anger, doubt, and a chilling loneliness akin to a night sky as the stars were extinguished, one by one.


	3. Sparks

**I'm really excited about releasing this chapter for a few reasons; I worked very hard on it, but mostly it just feels good to get content out. When I first decided to write this story I was aiming for a chapter every two weeks, but so far it's looked like every three weeks is all I've managed to stick to. The most exciting part though is knowing that you story followers get something new to read, as the plot is starting to go to exciting places now while I write it at work.**

I would like to go on record as saying this story is rated M for a reason, and this chapter starts to mention some dark topics relating to child abuse and trauma that could be triggering to some people. Not that viciously slamming someone's head against a table repeatedly was anything that didn't already warrant an M rating, but I just feel it's right to say so now.

Thank you for reading!

* * *

 **The Maw, Day 17  
**  
He ate alone.

He slept alone.

He would die alone too, and with the way things were going, a small part of Roman just wanted to get it over with.

Even over the clamor of the crowd, the sudden screech of the alarm was clearly audible, and he winced as he rose from the table. The bandages Neopolitan had applied had done wonders for the healing process, keeping infection at bay, but walking was still uncomfortable at best, and agonizing at worst. He limped along with the lines of fellow inmates, depositing his half-empty tray in a bin as he made his way out of the cafeteria.

The other prisoners made sure to stay to his flanks. They weren't afraid of him, Roman knew that wounded as he was he was a walking target for any vengeful White Fang, Hong Zhao that wanted some practice versus a Black Circle assassin, or any guards in a bad mood. No, they weren't afraid of him; what they _were_ afraid of was killing the one prisoner Friedrick Russet wanted to keep alive, and suffering, as long as possible.

In the twelve days since Top Dog had fallen, Roman had witnessed several fights break out in the middle of the cafeteria, the cockiest, biggest prisoners constantly trying to fill the void left by Top Dog as… well, _top dog_ ; in the metaphorical sense.

But no one had died, and none of the fights had drawn a crowd nearly as large. Right now, everyone was too cautious to lay a hand on him, and once he could walk properly again, he would be just as capable of cold-blooded, unarmed murder that he had been the day he set foot on The Maw's filthy floors. If anyone had the courage, or just didn't care about Russet's retribution enough, to kill him before he could take his vengeance on that hairless son of a bitch, Roman would try his damndest to kill them too, and if he lost?

It wasn't like it could get much worse.

* * *

He returned to his cell to find the Old Man had once again stayed behind to rot away in peace; what he ate, and how he was even still alive were complete mysteries to Roman. Not like he cared, as the two hadn't spoken since Neopolitan had been taken, and that could have happened a lifetime ago.

He carefully laid down on his bedroll, trying as he always did to envision an eventual escape plan. He wouldn't be able to rely on any other prisoners, as there was a chance they would rat him out to Russet, or use him until it no longer suited them, or any number of possibilities, none of them beneficial. No, he would have to do this alone; trust was what had put him here in the first place.

The broken pipe in the wall would make for an effective improvised weapon; it was even curved like a cane to allow for the disarms and counters he had studied... if he had the strength to pry it out. Roman estimated that there were only a few hundred prisoners in The Maw, and even less personnel; the prisoners outnumbered the guards several to one, but the firepower available to the guards was formidable: shock batons were standard issue, and most carried older gunblade models. He had glimpsed several miniguns, and a rocket launcher on one occasion.

It would be possible to overwhelm the guards with sheer numbers, but every prisoner in The Maw would have to work together, and currently they seemed unable to let go of the same allegiances that had mattered while they had been free, whether that loyalty had been to a criminal organization, radical terrorist group, or themselves alone; uniting them was out of the question.

He growled, turning over; the more he thought about it, the more impossible escape seemed to be. Even if he managed to fight his way through hundreds of armed guards, alone, armed with nothing but a pipe, The Maw was in Atlas, far north, and as far as he knew there was only one way off: the same way he had arrived, by barge. Slow, cold, and a sitting duck for Grimm attacks. The creatures hadn't attacked while he had been en route, so if his bad luck was a pattern, they would the minute he escaped.

The cell door creaked open, and there was the sound of manacles clinking as a pair of feet stumbled forward through the doors before hitting the floor with a light thud. Roman's eyes snapped open, himself turning over as the cell door was closed and locked.

"Neo?"

She had returned, though at first Roman wasn't sure if the girl he now saw was indeed the same one he had called Neopolitan. She now wore a relatively clean white dress, and her hair had been washed and brushed, dirtied only by the floor she had just hit face-first. The way she scurried frantically to the corner of the room, however, was all too familiar.

Roman shuffled, rising slowly as Neo huddled in her corner.

"… Hey, kid."

He hadn't expected a verbal response, but if Neo reacted at all, it had been completely unnoticeable. She didn't even twitch.

Roman slowly walked across the cell, and even as he did so his mind buzzed with questions, all practically stumbling over one another as they raced to the forefront of his conscience.

Where could she have been for nearly two weeks?  
How did she get a shower and a new dress? He didn't even have a shirt.

Above all, why did he care so much? Before he had ended up in this pit he wouldn't have paid some silent girl any attention at all, ice-cream eyes or not, but after so many days alone with nothing but pain for company, seeing Neo again was almost like the feeling of returning home after days away.

She was the only person in The Maw that he didn't hate. It was a start.

He sat against the wall, a few feet separating him from the still-huddled Neo. Slight, nearly imperceptible shivers racked her tiny frame, though Roman found the cell hotter than what he considered comfortable.

"Nice threads, Neo," he quipped, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, "You didn't manage to bring back any shampoo with you, did you?"  
The humor fell on ears that just weren't listening. She kept shaking.

He used to shake like that.

"Dammit," Roman breathed, one hand cradling his forehead, which was beginning to pound the more he internalized the bleak reality he found himself in.

 _Fat faunus fuck. Drinking Mistralian wine._

"How did I end up here, Neo?"

The silence that followed was expected, but Roman already had an answer for the question that never came.

"I grew up in Vale, you ever been there? It sure edges out this place. The first thing I can remember is my father, striking my mom to the floor."

Roman reached for the place where he used to keep his cigars, back when he had a jacket, sighing as he found only ribs; old habits never died.

"He left eventually, good riddance, but not before showing his family just how much he loved them. Everything that happened, in the cafeteria, when I first got here? Far from the first time I've ever had to pretend that pain wasn't pain, and that's not counting the ink."

He let out a dry chuckle; amused by his own aimless rambling or just the extent of his own misfortune, he wasn't sure.

"After he left, my uncle stepped in," he continued, "He used to… I think he used to dress me up as a girl, I guess; makeup, bows, and dresses, always said I had such pretty red hair or something like that. I don't remember, I was six, and honestly I don't need to: He was a freak, and mom never found out; when I tried to tell her, she hit me, just like dad did. Just wanted me to shut up."

At this point Roman no longer cared who was listening. The old man, the silent Neopolitan, or both; it didn't make a difference if they all just planned on staying quiet.

"So I ran away," he continued with another humorless huff, "All kids try, maybe you did too, once? Maybe you didn't, the thing is: I never went back home. I met a guy, who brought me to another guy covered in Grimm tattoos, who brought me to a guy with walrus tusks; sound crazy, yet? Don't worry, it gets better: I ran Dust, drugs, weapons, illicit contracts… basically if the cops wanted it, I was carrying it across town and giving it to someone else."

Neo shifted, hair falling away to reveal a single, pink eye as Roman continued, seemingly oblivious.

"Turns out I was working for The Black Circle, one of the oldest assassin cults in Remnant, though these days they're more into anything illegal that pays lien, and Giovane, the one with the tusks, worked for them, brokering contracts and maintaining a cash flow for their operations. So: if Vale is a big chessboard, The Black Circle is the king, he's a bishop, and I'm a pawn, for years. Eventually though, I guess The Black Circle thought I would make a good assassin. I got my first tattoo when I was 14, and that cane our friend Russet beat me with? Yeah, that cane is _mine_ , by the way. I was given that too; The Black Circle isn't too keen on sniperswords, gunhammers and deathpurses like the Huntsmen are these days; they tend to stand out. Who would you suspect more: a guy with a cane, or a guy wearing transforming, high-caliber machine boots? I've seen a pair of those before, not even kidding."

Roman glanced at Neo as she leaned a pale cheek against one knee, clearly listening from behind her locks. Focused, but not offering an opinion.

"I committed my first murder to get that tattoo… would you believe me if I told you the one I killed was my freak uncle?"

Neo blinked.

"Didn't think so."

Roman glanced at the Nevermore on his forearm, just above the halfway healed number he had been so generously given on the day of his arrival, its bony beak spilling onto his hand, bloody and open mid-screech.

"I got my orders from good old Giovane, and I remember the first thing he asked me: 'Boy, who do you hate most?'"

Roman looked away, as if the walls had windows. He was giving himself a moment to sift through the memories, separating the ones he liked from the ones he wished would go away. Neo's eye flicked to the cell door as she watched him, otherwise still.

"He hadn't lived with my mom for years," Roman shook his head, "but Giovane had an address for me in minutes. I took a cab across town, climbed in through the window, and beat him to death while he was watching TV. Honestly I'm not sure he really deserved it, but I was 14, and I hated him; I hated him for pretending to be my father, pretending to love my mom, putting me in a dress… I hated him because I lived on the streets for so long, but now I was back: I knew how to fight… and he didn't."

At this, Roman chuckled lightly before growing serious. Neo turned her gaze back to him as he met her eyes. He could see both of them now, strawberry and chocolate.

"I slaughtered him, Neo… there wasn't much for the police to drag back to the morgue by the time I was done, and it was fun. In fact, it was the greatest feeling I've ever felt… I'm not talking about killing, I'm talking about revenge."

He clenched his tattooed fist.

"There's nothing quite like taking someone that hurt you; made you fear, made you _hate_ , and watching them scream, as you do the same thing to them that you just gritted your teeth through for so long."

Neo's small lips parted silently, pink eyes glittering like candles set alight.

"And that's what I'm going to do when I get out of this place," he told the rapt Neopolitan, "I worked for The Black Circle for years, and Giovane would always find me jobs. Sometimes they were assassinations, but usually I just had to steal something. I got good at stealing, even better than I was at killing. Sometimes it was more fun; lying, manipulating, picking pockets and then hearing them scream as you're already half a block away, way more exciting. Then, one day Giovane tells me to steal some Dust. No, more like, _a lot_ of Dust.

"I was in and out like a ghost, Neo. The Schnee Dust Company usually takes security pretty seriously, and that just meant the guards had more money that I could pluck from their pockets. I handed off the Dust and the money to another agent, and she told me she would get it to Giovane… right before someone kicked me in the head. I never even saw it coming, but she did… Giovane did… everyone did, but me."

Neo looked like she had been struck.

"I'm going to get out of this pit," Roman growled, "I don't care if it takes months, years, _decades_ , I'm going to find Giovane, and I'm going to pull those tusks out of his still screaming face, mount them on my wall, and then everyone in Remnant will know not to fuck with Roman Torchwick!"

In his anger Roman didn't notice the small hand atop his own until Neo gripped his fingers. The contact was alien at first, Roman almost flinching as he whipped his attention back to the petite girl. She hadn't moved, instead having reached across the distance between them to grasp his hand. Her mouth was set, conveying a somber tenacity even as a single tear ran translucent against her milky skin.

Her comfort flooded him, overwhelmingly so, and Roman pulled his hand away before the damn broke and he did something embarrassing, like cry; how dramatic that would be.

Still, he knew what lying looked like, and how Neo's face transformed as his fingers slipped from her own definitely wasn't it; not even close.

The air was thick between them; Roman glanced at the old man, still asleep even as Neo's face stayed locked in a single instant. Discomforted by the moment, his eyes wandered to the broken pipe in the wall.

"You're in here, Neo," he ventured, "Because someone put you in here. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that probably means there's some _one_ you want dead, some _where_ in Remnant."

It took a few seconds, but surely enough, Neo nodded her small head.

Roman had to chuckle. The funny thing was: this was the most direct communication he and Neo had ever shared. That made it seem a lot like trust, but as dirty a word it may be, trust was starting by the moment to seem like all Roman had left until he found his way to freedom.

"You want to find out what it feels like?" he looked at Neo's eyes, "Revenge?"

Neo's brows furrowed, and as she blinked away the forming tears strawberry became stark white. She narrowed her lids, and gave a single, slow nod, constrained in its ferocity.

And, in spite of himself, it made Roman pull back his lips, like curtains as he bared his teeth in the smile of a man who just made a bet.

Mindful of his still-injured legs he rose and stepped over a confused Neo, making for the pipe in the wall. Just like the first day he was dumped here, he gripped, braced and pulled. His aura stopped the rust from biting into his palms, but after several seconds of strained pulling his legs burned, like he'd been running for miles.

He thought of how much he hated it here; how much he hated everyone who had ever claimed to care about him, and how at the present moment the only person he could trust was a kid that hadn't said a single word and yet had got him to spill his life story. He growled, yanked, cursed every power that be, and the pipe groaned against the metal wall, bending slightly.

"Alright… be that way…" Roman muttered between breaths, stepping back. He rolled his shoulders, inhaled, exhaled, then braced his aura and snapped his right leg into a jumping kick, twisting his calf and bringing the top of his foot down against the pipe.

With his aura concentrated, it was like a fight with an armed opponent; Roman felt the impact, but not the pain. The impact in question, however, was enough to send him stumbling backwards, and he fell to the floor as his already weakened calves buckled.

"Dammit!" He shouted in frustration, Neo rising from her hunch and leaving his field of vision, her attention drawn to the clattering of the broken pipe landing across the cell.

The old man's eyes fluttered open to the sight of Roman hissing as he tried to stand. He watched as he struggled to his feet, Neo walking back over with the ousted pipe in hand.

"Whatever you kids plan on doing with that pipe, just keep it down," the old man said, closing his eyes again, "I'm trying to sleep."

Roman could tell that the old man knew what was going on, but all that mattered was that he didn't seem like he gave a shit. He turned to Neo, receiving the pipe he had dislodged from the wall. Though she offered it, she still appeared uncertain of Roman's intent.

Trust.

"Russet's goons aren't going to let us just walk out of here," Roman tossed the pipe lightly before catching it, testing its weight, "When someone is coming at you with a weapon, don't flinch: move out of the way."

The raising of Neo's eyebrows, first in quizzical confusion, was hastened dramatically as Roman stepped into his attack, swinging the pipe downwards. The girl's eyes widened as she jumped to the left with time to spare, eyes quickly returning to Roman.

"You're fast," he assessed, "But if you jump around everywhere it limits your mobility. Move your feet, and stay balanced!"

Neo nodded before backpedaling from a horizontal swing, the pipe barely grazing the top of her head. The pipe's lack of any ergonomic design or wrapped handle had Roman constantly readjusting his grip as he swung twice more, keeping his attacks moderately quick, and Neo avoided them both with deft, if wobbly footwork, but that was to be expected from a starving child, as Roman hadn't done as well himself in a similar position.

He was impressed, but tried not to let it show; the more he attempted to hit her the more it made him ever more aware that Neo's diminutive stature was actually a valuable asset, as it made her a smaller target, and easier for her to stay mobile.

"Now try and take it from me," he called out as he swung downwards, Neo sidestepping the pipe. The comprehension flashed across her face in a moment, and Roman stepped up his technique. He chained together a simple combination: down, forward step, and into a horizontal slash, which Neo ducked underneath.

She was a fast learner, but still a learner at that; Roman sent her rolling across the floor with a firm kick, which hurt him almost as much as it had hurt her. He hissed as his calf protested, but when he recovered Neo was already on her feet, bouncing on her heels, ready for another round.

Roman's calf felt like it had rebounded off of a punching bag; a sort of lingering inertia, not the same feeling he got when he kicked someone, whether with force or not. His eyes narrowed as Neo started to circle him, hands at her sides, eyes focused on the pipe in his hands.

Roman's brow wrinkled the more he thought about it; it was impossible, not without prior training, or some earlier fight-or-flight event that would have forced her to call upon it, but…

"…An aura?" he whispered.

Neo took the offensive, rushing Roman head on, just as he himself had been instructed not to ever do. Forgoing the pipe, so he didn't crack his new protégé's skull open like an egg in the event he was mistaken, he threw a punch at the small head rapidly approaching his thigh, only for Neo to weave to the side, grabbing the punch and throwing him forward.

Roman's stumbling was accompanied by a cry of surprise before he caught his balance, growling as he whipped the pipe around behind him to deter any counter attacks. A training session it may have been, but he was not going let himself be bested by a child.

He realized his mistake too late; the curved end of the pipe crashed into Neo's skull, and a piercing series of cracks split his ears as Neo's entire body shattered into hundreds of bloodless shards. Roman dropped the pipe, covering his ears as the pieces fell slowly to the floor, only to further scatter.

"All I asked was for you to keep it down!"  
An angry admonishment came from the old man, roused from his sleep by the noise, but all Roman could do was stare blankly at the pieces of the closest thing he had to a friend as they slowly dissolved, shards to tiny particles of dust, and from dust to nothing.

The next words out of the old man's mouth were not nearly as scathing, but instead almost remorseful, as if he had jumped to a terrible conclusion only to be proven wrong soon thereafter.

"Not bad, child," he admitted.

Roman was putting the pieces together in his mind, but however appropriate the metaphor, Neo's shards were completely gone. He had seen more than enough people die to know that death came with blood, not a magic show. Gradually he turned, Neo standing behind him and staring at the spot where her projection had just shattered moment's prior.

Her eyes, pale white met Roman's as he faced her, her confusion evident in the part of her lips and the subtle bounce of her locks as she shook her head in disbelief.

"You have a semblance…" Roman spoke aloud, as he tried to work out something that he had very little clues to, "Did you know a Huntsman? How did you learn to do that?"

She continued to shake her head, and it was then that Roman realized he would have to learn to read his new… partner, for a lack of a more proper term, more adeptly if he ever wanted his questions answered. Still, his mind was already beginning to sing with possibilities. Whatever Neo had done, he'd fallen for it, and that meant, hopefully, so would the guards. On top of that, with some more training, she would make a nimble fighter.

He looked away, catching the old man eyeing them from his bedroll, expression concealed behind his long beard.

"Did you see that?" Roman demanded, more out of disbelief than anger, "The illusion?"

"The whole thing," the old man confirmed, "One day she'll be better than you."

Roman rolled his eyes before turning around, Neo in the midst of studying her hands. It was a moment before she returned her attention to him, her shock replaced by visible wonder.

"Maybe," he gestured between himself and Neo, "We have a shot at getting out of here after all."

Roman Torchwick was sure that for as long as he lived, he would never forget the time he saw the first glimmers of hope spark in Neopolitan's eyes, or the small but confident smile that spread across her face.

In the moment, he allowed himself a small smirk, wincing briefly as he bent and picked up the pipe from the floor.

"Alright," he said, brushing dirty hands on his slacks, "Let's see if you can do that again."

* * *

 **The Maw, Day 94**

Three months passed in a predictable pattern, of which Roman remembered little. Every moment he wasn't being coerced to the cafeteria to eat and back, getting taunted, threatened, and nearly stabbed on one occasion, by White Fang as the days crawled by, or sleeping and letting his wounds heal, he was training Neo for the day they would fight their way to freedom, or die trying.

He had never fancied himself a teacher, he hated kids, but Neo proved a quick learner, improving her reflexes, endurance, and martial skill at rates that left her able to do in weeks what many could not do in months. Roman instructed her as best he could in the fighting style of The Black Circle, both unarmed and armed methods using the curved end of the pipe to simulate the handle of an umbrella or cane. When the pair wasn't training they hid the makeshift weapon in the wall, as if it had never been broken. Though Neo's tiny body naturally augmented her agility and balance, she was also crafty and determined, able to think on her feet and challenge Roman during their sessions, even if all the while she was the learner.

That was the amazing thing, Roman mused: the driven girl he now tutored seemed so distant from the craven, broken soul he had encountered the day he arrived in The Maw; morning until night they trained, and occasionally Roman would awake and find Neo already up and testing herself, either running through various drills he had taught her or trying to create illusions. Her determination and focus was formidable, and she never once stopped trying to best Roman at every challenge he threw at her.

Twice over the course of three months, Neo had been taken and returned by the guards again, and the interim weeks had been the hardest Roman had spent in The Maw to date, bar none. Both times his thoughts had churned, eating him alive with dark conjectures of where Neo was and what could be happening to her. The one thing he had learned to cling to in order to keep himself going was his partnership with Neo, intermittent one-sided conversations included. The feeling of satisfaction, at watching Neo and himself become stronger, better fighters, biding their time until they eventually risked everything, had become the very _everything_ he was about to risk; the things he had had before his imprisonment seemed so far in the past that now his penthouse, his status in The Black Circle, all of it was irrelevant next to growing stronger and the burning desire to see Giovane Verde die. On the way out, he'd kill Friedrick Russet too, and take Melodic Cudgel back from the bald freak's dead hands.

Separated from Neo, however, all of that disappeared, the burning flame almost snuffed by a near crushing sense of despair and loneliness. Roman had never allowed himself to rely on someone else for so much, and at the end of the day he and Neo were both just partners; strangers working together out of necessity, trusting one another because if they didn't they would never make it out alive, and yet without her, staying hopeful was made significantly more difficult.

Both times she had been returned, she had at first been completely unresponsive, staying still and quiet for hours, and the first time Roman had thought her spirit destroyed. Eventually she recovered the strength to train again, but when he witnessed it all happen a second time, weeks before the current day, it was only by fatigue's grace that he found sleep at all as twisted guesswork about Neo's fate stained his dreams.

Partner or friend, she was all Roman had, and with each passing day he feared losing her by a steadily increasing margin, small but perceptible all the same.

Roman watched Neo approach their table, slipping in and out of view as she weaved through the sea of legs that filled the cafeteria. Nonchalantly he observed her as she crawled behind the shuffling, tattooed feet of a distant Hong Zhao and reappeared several pairs of feet closer, this time beneath an elderly rabbit faunus. She disappeared from sight soon afterwards, and Roman couldn't help but marvel at her natural grace and fluidity as she moved through the crowd with no visible hindrance.

It was only when Neo didn't reappear for a few seconds longer than it usually took her to, Roman trying not to squint his eyes as he continued to survey the crowd with greater scrutiny, that he started to feel uneasy. With every moment that went by without Neo showing he grew more unsettled; he started to wonder if someone even more talented than Neo had tracked her and murdered her, so silently and so swiftly that-

A small hand lightly tapped the corner of Roman's tray, and he had to bite his cheek to stop himself from elbowing an attack that wasn't there out of habit. He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart, and when he opened his eyes Neo's proud grin was at shoulder-height, alive and unharmed.

"Stop smiling," Roman reminded as he tried to appear unaffected, "You shouldn't be broadcasting your semblance in here; what if some stupid faunus trips on his tail and breaks one of your illusions into a million little pieces?"

Neo's face was defensive, the corners of her mouth falling along with her inner brows, but Roman knew that he had made his point from the subtle flush of pale cheeks and the shifting of brown and rosy eyes; just because Neo couldn't _speak_ , didn't mean she couldn't communicate, his own head often filling the gaps in their conversations as he read the language in her expressions.

 _I thought you'd be impressed._

Roman allowed a single moment of silence to pass before he conceded.

"You had me fooled," he admitted, "You're getting good at that Neo, just don't risk it if you don't have to."

Despite her best attempts to hide it, Neo's grin resurfaced.

Under the table, her other hand finished sliding her most recent acquisition out of her dress pocket, deftly passing it into Roman's larger grasp. He identified a metal zippo lighter, solely through touch, slipping the device into his nearly worn-through pocket. The device was a perfect match with the premium cigar Neo had lifted off of a guard some day's prior, sitting back in the cell tucked into his bedroll.

Freedom was still priority number one, followed very closely by bloody revenge, but Roman would have been a liar if he'd said that he wasn't looking forward to enjoying some old-fashioned tobacco later.

"You didn't stretch the pocket, did you?" he asked, side-eyeing Neo inscrutably.

She shook her head, subtly crossing her index and middle fingers over one another on top of Roman's tray.

He smirked.

"Not bad at all."

Neo rolled her petite shoulders in self-satisfaction.

 _He never saw me coming_.

The fact that he would finally get some tobacco in his system later wasn't the only reason Roman smiled: the change in Neo's attitude was inspiring. Not only had she become very skilled, but also seeing her smile and carry herself with purpose almost made it easier to do so himself, even in what was beyond the shadow of a doubt one of the darkest situations he had ever found himself in.

The world was cold, but small flames still burned in the darkest, most frigid corners, providing just enough warmth.

The table rattled as a newcomer seated himself across from the duo, setting his tray down with muscled arms. He was of middle age, wearing unassuming clothes. He may have been a few inches shorter than Roman, but his body was considerably bulkier, his dense muscles in stark comparison to Roman's lean body by prison food. Obsidian eyes flashed under tossed silver hair, eyeing Neo briefly before studying Roman for an uncomfortably long few seconds.

Roman clenched his fist under the table, Neo tapping the top of his hand twice to confirm she understood just how they were going to play this.

"Excuse me," Roman began, false manners underscored by a condescending lilt, "But I believe you sat down at the wrong table. I think you should go find your own before I-"

"I sat down at the right one," the man stated, nodding his head as if confirming something, "Tall, skinny, ugly tattoos, and an attitude, all check."

His breath smelled like a Mistralian distillery, Neo wrinkling her nose as she stared him down with narrowed eyes colored an unassuming brown. Roman scoffed, masking his thoughts with indifference as he decided whether it was more likely that a new prisoner was trying to make an impression, or Russet was onto him, and had sent in an agent to weed him out.

"Checkboxes on whose list?" Roman chuckled, folding his fingers on the table, "As far as I can tell you're drunk; you smell like a dive bar."

The man closed his eyes as if witnessing a nervous public speaker stutter into a microphone that was feeding back.

"On that note," Roman continued, "You think you could bring me some shots? We can drink to you leaving me the hell alone."

"You Roman Torchwick?"

After a pause of several seconds the man opened his eyes, Roman's act dropped and replaced by the most intimidating scowl he could muster. He clenched and unclenched his tattooed right hand, wishing at the moment that he had that cigar handy. Neo blinked, once, and Roman had no way of knowing if the shift in one of her eyes to pink had been intentional.

"That depends on who's asking."

The man allowed himself a fleeting smirk, burying it before it could do anything to soften his stony expression.

"My name is Marcus… Marcus Black."


	4. Trust

Somewhere, from the other side of the cafeteria, the howls and jeers of a brawl in progress carried across the clamor of voices and cutlery around the three of them.

Marcus Black; the name had a nice ring to it, sure, but all Roman saw was a tired looking man that smelled like alcohol in a place that had a considerable dearth of it.

"…And is that name supposed to… mean something to me?" Roman gestured with his other hand as he spoke.

"It shouldn't," Marcus rolled a muscled shoulder, "The difference between _real_ assassins and you Black Circle try-hards is that targets never see _real_ assassins coming. And, after the deed is done, no one knows who did it."

Roman flexed his knuckles as Marcus took a bite of the tasteless, steaming clay that passed for mashed potatoes in The Maw.  
"These days, if anyone's choked to death with an umbrella, all the police have to do to find the ones responsible is stakeout the local tattoo parlor, but when the client is willing to pay a little extra not to leave a trail that might as well be lit with neon signs… they call me."

Roman nodded along as Marcus spoke, smothering a smug grin tugging at his lips.

"So I take it you're not here to kill me, seeing as you just introduced yourself so politely?" he mocked. Beside him, Neo's shoulders rocked with silent chuckles.

Marcus took a deep breath.

"Punk, if someone put a price on _your_ head, the reward wouldn't be nearly enough for me to bother infiltrating this fucking rust palace in the first place."

Roman looked away, grinding his back teeth.

"I came for Top Dog," Marcus stated, "Client wanted the hound dead without getting the White Fang on their trail."

"…Top Dog?"

"That's where the trail starts," Marcus continued, "His father, Dervish, is one of the White Fang elites. He was set to arrive a few days from now to pick up his son, and I was going to kill Top Dog while he was in transit. Once he arrived to find his son dead, he was going to buy me from Russet for some revenge, and then when Dervish ends up delivering me to the White Fang's _headquarters_ , I was going to escape, kill the entire White Fang leadership in a single day, and retire off the unimaginable _bounty_ that an anonymous group was prepared to pay me to have the White Fang destroyed."

The assassin cracked his muscled neck.

"And… none of that happened."

Roman laughed in disbelief, "I butchered Top Dog _three months_ ago! I did half your job for you!"

"Yes, yes you did," Marcus growled, "And as soon as Dervish got word from Russet, he decided he didn't want to travel halfway across Remnant to pay money for your punk ass, and left you to rot. _Months ago_. The White Fang gets to live another day to keep shoving faunus riots down our throats, in the name of 'peace' of course, and now I'm stuck here in this fucking _ditch_ , because some hot shot kid with an Ursa on his neck ruined a plan, _half_ a _year_ in the making, by slamming Top Dog's head into a table until there was nothing left but paste."

"Hey, he was the one who wanted to fight, not me!" Roman snapped, "And I don't know where you heard that, but that's an exaggeration; his skull was still intact… mostly."

Neo watched the exchange intently, body tense and ready for action as the conversation grew more heated.

"The story varies; depends on which traumatized faunus you ask. Top Dog's dead, and none of it matters anymore," Marcus shrugged his broad shoulders, "What's important now, is that I'm not going to die in here. I have a boy, and he can't stay with his aunt forever while I rot. You and Snowcone here probably want to see the sun again sometime soon as well…"

Neo's eyes narrowed to slits.

"…Unless rusty rivets, food that makes TV dinners look good, and White Fang that won't shut the hell up is your idea of high living."

There was a tense pause as the din of the cafeteria echoed around them. The distant brawl was coming to a close, the crowd chanting indecipherably in rhythm.

"Take a wild guess," Roman muttered.

Marcus leaned in, getting straight to business

"Not even I can get out of here alone," he said, lowering his voice, "But you killed Top Dog, so I know you're better than most of the Black Circle hacks in here. I have a plan, but it's going to take skill to pull off, and frankly, you owe me one for stranding me here in the first place."

"A plan?" Roman widened his green eyes, "You've been here for… how long? I've been looking for months, and the only way out is to kill our way through everything."

"I never said it wouldn't involve that," Marcus continued, "But that would be the easy part. This prison is built into a mountain island, hundreds of miles away from Atlas proper. At the bottom there's a dock where prisoners are brought in by boat, but at the top, there's a private hangar where Friedrick Russet receives guests that plan on buying prisoners. If we can get to that hangar, we can steal a bullhead and be in Vale in a little over half a day."

Roman glanced at Neo, who had been listening silently to the entire conversation thus far. She was focused on Marcus, studying him with subtle flicks of her mismatched irises, only refocusing on Roman after several seconds. She gave a nod, and the pair offered Marcus their collective attention once more.

"How do you know all this?" Roman asked.

"I've made a few connections over the years," Marcus said, "None of which would appreciate it if I told you. Does the girl speak?"

"No," Roman stated as Neo gave a single shake of her small head, "And I don't think she appreciates you asking."

"Alright, I see how it is," Marcus dismissed, "The main reason we can't kill our way out of here right now, is because the hangar is only accessible by Russet himself. He has the only key, and if we try to get to him from here, he'll be long gone by the time we break our way into that hangar."

Roman chewed the information over.

"So… we need to get the key, from the prison warden, who hardly ever shows his face around here, and we need it _before_ we start killing our way to freedom?"

"If we can get our hands on it, we might be able to leave before anyone notices we're gone," Marcus added, "But that's unlikely."

"The whole plan is _unlikely_ ," Roman spat angrily, "How are we supposed to get to Russet without alerting half the guards in this place? Last time he was out here, he nearly destroyed my ankles!"

"I heard," Marcus nodded his head in the direction of the rest of the cafeteria's population, "I also heard you took it like a badass, which is why I'm having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that you're whining like a bitch while I'm handing you a plan, which you didn't have, before I sat myself down right in front of you."

Roman's pale cheeks reddened. Before he could attempt a retort, Neo touched his shoulder urgently. At first he thought she was just trying to calm him, but the look in her eyes said differently. She nodded at Marcus, pointing at herself as she looked back to Roman.

"It would be really handy if we had a scroll you could type on, Neo," Roman sighed, nevertheless attempting to decipher her voiceless communiqué.

Neo rolled her eyes. She hugged herself, then frantically pointed off into the distance. Roman and Marcus both watched as she made a key-turning motion with her hand.

"The key…?" Marcus asked.

"You know where it is?" Roman asked in a low voice.

Neo swallowed and nodded, brow darkening. Roman felt like another piece of the puzzle he had been trying to put together for the past three months had just fallen into place. The way forward was growing clearer, but that didn't mean Roman liked what he saw of the incomplete picture.

"I think Neo can take care of the key," Roman interpreted for Marcus.

The assassin furrowed his brow.

"She can get the key off Russet? Picking pockets in a prison mess hall is one thing, but-"

Roman's eyes shot wide with panic.

"How long have you been watching us?" he hissed.

"Long enough," Marcus hurried, visibly annoyed, "Can she get the key or not?"

Neo nodded vigorously, staring Marcus down as he studied her with visible doubt in his obsidian eyes. A few beats of silence were abruptly cut short by the shrill screech of the alarm, heralding the mass exodus of prisoners back to their cells.

"I hate that thing," muttered Roman.

"Do what you can about the key, I'm going to do some recon," Marcus said as he hastily rose to his feet, "I'll find you again in two weeks; don't speak to me before then."

The assassin disappeared into the rapidly rising crowd before Roman could say a word.

* * *

Roman and Neo returned to their cell, jointly silent and eyes downcast within a herd of prisoners being guided down the halls. The guards at their backs quickly sorted them out from the main group, opening the door to their cell and ushering them through. The lock clanged behind them, and Roman immediately deposited his cigar into his rough-spun pillow; he would enjoy it in the dead of night when even the guards were too exhausted to care. Originally, he had been going to light up as soon as he got back, guards be damned, but the encounter with the assassin had made him cautious.

The assassin.

Marcus Black was a professional, and if Roman couldn't have deduced as much from his connections, skills, or his involvement in a plot to destroy the damned _White Fang_ , then the way he had spoken about the Black Circle as if they were no more than a gang of common street thugs had made it obvious: Marcus Black was either a veteran taker of life that outclassed Roman in almost every way… or he was lying.

He glanced at Neo, leaned against the wall as she gazed straight ahead at the cell door. Though he appeared it, the old man on the other side of the cell probably wasn't asleep, but he had had months to tip off the guards about the training sessions and had said nothing. At this point, Roman was almost sure that the aged man was completely indifferent about whether they escaped or not.

"Neo…" Roman began.

She nodded an acknowledgement, but her eyes didn't wander from the door.

"You think Marcus was telling the Truth?" Roman asked, "I want to get out of here just as much you do, you know that, but what if he betrays us? Do you really think we can trust him?"

Neo's lips tightened as she thought, and she blinked twice. Several seconds went by before she gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Roman sighed. "Alright then."

Neo turned her attention to him, and he studied the meaning in her features.

 _We don't have any other choice._

"You can get the key then?" Roman elaborated, looking his partner back in the eyes, "You're sure? Because if there's no key, there's no plan."

Roman already knew the answer, and Neo's unyielding stare told him that she was well aware that he did. He looked away.

"You're going to wait for them to take you."

She looked to the floor.

"They're going to take you to Russet, and you're going to swipe the key from under his nose while he keeps you with him, since I'm guessing you must either know where it is, or have a damn good idea. Then, if he _still_ doesn't realize the unique key to his private hangar is missing, the guards will drop the only person that would or could have taken it, _you_ , back here, and then we'll meet up with Marcus Black, fight our way to a bullhead, and fly off into the sunset," Roman looked back to her for answer, "…Right?"

Neo was immobile. One of her brunette locks had tumbled onto her motionless face. Roman watched, and each second that passed in silence further confirmed everything he had been afraid of: Their plan was a long shot, and there were no other options. Neo had suffered such pain, that even if she could find the voice, she would not have the words to describe it. When her slow nod finally came, falling and rising with the slowness and rhythm of solemn breath, it was unnecessary, as Roman had already deduced the answer.

"Keep our cover," he spoke. He had his hands wrapped loosely around his knees, one wrist wringing the other, "You're good, Neo, just… I wish you didn't have to go at all-I mean, what I'm trying to say is… I would go if I could-ugh, Dammit."

Neo shook her head as Roman stumbled.

 _You can't go. This is the only way._

"I know…" Roman ran a hand through his tangled mass of red hair, twirling a greasy strand as he tried to find the words. Maybe, it wasn't the words he was looking for at all, but rather the meanings; he could talk all day if he had to, but the feelings that clawed at his guts had no names.

"Just stay strong," he settled, "Come back with that key, and none of us ever have to see this place again."

* * *

Day 97

They came three days later, Roman waking from his restless reverie with a start to the sound of the cell door being opened, and hours before breakfast had even commenced. He backed against the wall, opting to look away from the guard leveling a weapon at him while the other went straight for Neo, who was already awake. From the corner of his half-closed eye, Roman watched the armored thug shackle Neo to his belt.

The girl looked terrified, white eyes shrinking as she was gruffly ushered out of the cell. Before she was dragged through the door, Roman met her eyes for a split second with a sideways glance, his messy red bangs hiding the movement of his lips as he mouthed a silent message to his companion.

 _Hold on._

The entire procession was out of the room just as quickly as they had arrived; the guards never wasted any time when they came for Neo, and just like that he was alone aside from the old man for an unknown number of days. The morning fatigue weighed heavily on his body, but his mind was already racing.

The longer he was alone, the more it would set in: the paranoia, the doubt, the dread, and the crushing sense of defeat would all come for him soon enough, and already he could feel their fingers rapping on his spine.

He forced himself up with a grunt of exertion, commanding his tired limbs to move. He stomped to the middle of the cell, planted his feet and recalled one of the earliest unarmed combat katas the Black Circle had taught him when he had been about as old as Neo.

He ran through the various blocks, strikes, and counters with lethal precision. He grunted and strained as he forced his malnourished limbs through the motions, but a trained fighter could stand against an opponent even when their strength was at its lowest; combat wasn't strength, it was using the enemy's strength against them.

He snapped off a kick, and was pleased when his calf muscles didn't scream in protest. He countered an imaginary enemy's throw, followed up with another snap kick and a solid punch, but stumbled as he failed to recover from a botched high kick, barely maintaining his footing.

"Fuck," he hissed. Had he pushed the limits of his body? Or did Neo's absence already have him off balance?

"What if she doesn't come back?"

Roman whipped his head towards the old man, who was awake, yawning nonchalantly in the corner of the cell.

"Then I bust my way out of here!" Roman announced, face smeared with a forced grin, "I always have a plan B!"

"I thought that was plan A?" the old man questioned.

Roman growled exasperatedly.

"She'll come back, alright? She'll come back, and if she doesn't, I fight my way out of here or die trying, and it probably won't work. You happy now, grandpa?"

"You believe in her…"

The old man's voice was barely audible, his thick beard twisting in what might have been an amused smile.

"I trained her," Roman scoffed, "Didn't _you_ say she'd be better than me? And now, when her moment of glory is here, you doubt her?"

The old man shook his ancient head, slowly, as if his neck would break if he moved any faster.

"I believe in her, just as you do," he said, "I just hope you know how much she believes in you, too."

"She's a brave little kid," Roman admitted, shaking out his limbs as they spoke, "Of course she believes in me, she doesn't have anything else, and neither do I."

"That's not what I said," the old man affirmed confidently, "I have no doubt you know she believes in you, she would not be practicing, or training, or moving if she didn't. No, I asked if you knew how _much_."

Roman leered at the elder, insulted by the nerve on the old man that hadn't even helped in the escape attempt that he and Neo has worked months for.

"If you have something to say to me," Roman hissed through gritted teeth, "Say it."

The old man sighed deeply and wearily.

"I've been in here a long time," he began, "So long, that I'm sure whoever is running this place now doesn't even know I'm still alive."

There were a few moments before the next words came.

"The girl was moved into my cell years ago. She's never spoken, not once, but I watched her grow in here, suffer in here… and over time, I watched her spirit die."

He tried not to let it show, but Roman's gut twisted listening to the account. Side by side images of the shaking, hunched form of Neo and the smile on her face the day she had discovered her semblance flashed in his mind.

"We used to have another cell mate," the old man whispered, "I've forgotten his name, but he was a lot like you, Roman Torchwick. He wasn't going to die in here, no he wasn't. Our mute friend, she liked the words that came out of his mouth, but after months and months, escape nowhere in sight, he turned on her… and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to react, and she had nowhere to run to, when the one flame she had clung to for hope became just another nightmare."

Roman ground his teeth.

"I tried…" the old man faltered, "I tried to help, but even back then, I was hardly in the prime of my youth, and I… couldn't stop him. But one day, she drew her line. I don't know quite where she went in her heart to find that fire, but she found it, and she burned him with it.

"I didn't get to see it happen, but it must have been over quickly. I woke up and saw his neck broken, eyes clawed out, face slashed to nothing, and the girl, with blood under her fingernails and eyes that no longer cried.

"Russet started taking her after that, and I never saw the fire burn again. Not for years… not until you were thrown in here."

"That sounds…" Roman attempted weakly.

"I don't have much time left," The old man said, meeting Roman's eyes from across the cell, "And I am at peace with that. The Remnant I knew is long gone now, I wouldn't even know it if I saw it, but if I had to wager, I think you'll finally do it: The two of you, you have a chance at escaping The Maw, and seeing Remnant again."

"…Thanks, grandpa, didn't know you cared."

"I don't, not about you anyway," the elder stated wryly, "But if you escape, take care of her… _Neopolitan_ , the girl you _named_ , who trusts you, and is putting herself through so much pain because of that trust. She has nothing to believe in but you, no family but you, and if she has any chance for a normal life, after what this shithole has taken from her, it's with you."

The old man laid down on his bedroll, closing his eyes, and Roman said nothing.

He said nothing for a long time.

Not out loud.

He couldn't bring himself to touch even the cigar underneath his pillow, still unburnt.

Eventually he returned to training, killing nothing but time until the first breakfast alone of many would come to remind him of the cold reality around him.

And while he trained, swinging a pipe in complicated patterns imagining it was a combat cane; with nothing to eat, he chewed instead upon the word:

 _Trust._

* * *

Day 104

The first day he had done nothing but eat and train.

The second had been no different.

The third day the old man didn't wake up. Once.

Roman had given the man another full day, but by day five it was obvious that now he was truly alone.

The cell started to smell even worse than it usually did, and he frequently puffed on the cigar just to block the smell of the man's body from his nostrils; sleeping was impossible otherwise. He barely ate, and he was constantly looking over his shoulder in the cafeteria for prisoners or guards that wanted their pound of flesh. Escape seemed like the closest, and yet the farthest away it had ever been.

The more days he counted down the less he slept, the more he trained, the less he ate, and the more time he spent thinking about Neo. What if she had been discovered? What if she wasn't coming back this time? What if she had been caught, and Russet and his goons were ripping into her for information? Roman had seen the Black Circle go to work on people that knew things they wanted to, and the methods they used to extract said things; Dust could inflict unspeakable horrors upon the body and mind, agony that made minutes seem like hours or days.

There was no comfort to be found in dreams, nor in existence; his nightmares threatened to crush his spirit, and the stench of misery and the body he had covered with a bedroll choked him of what little breath reality saw fit to give him.

The sixth day he could do nothing but sit and wait, as if staring at the wall for long enough would eventually cause it to crumble away so he could see the sun; smell something other than death and pain. The cafeteria offered no respite, as all eyes seemed to watch him, and the only one on his side, Marcus Black, was nowhere to be found.

The sixth day bled slowly into the seventh, the muffled racket of the prison coming to life a poor substitute for the chirping of birds. Roman breathed deeply, a piece of cloth he had torn from his bedroll tied over his nose to filter the stench of death from the air; in his fist he held one he had already prepared for Neo whenever she returned.

The old man had been right: No one had even remembered he was here. The guards had not disposed of his body, even when they had come to retrieve Roman for meals.

He wouldn't die like that. If she never came back, Roman would die fighting before he was forgotten at the ends of the world, especially while Giovane Verde was free.

The silence made it easier to hear the footfalls outside in the hall; a pair of heavy boots thudding on the metal floor. Guards patrolling the hall were nothing new, but when they slowed their approach and the cell door creaked open Roman tensed. His heart started to buzz with adrenaline as the first boot stomped into the cell; it wasn't dinner yet and that meant they were here to drop off Neo, or to grab him and drag him somewhere worse.

He looked away, prepared to fight for his life the moment it became clear he would need to, and the guards marched Neo into the cell, unshackling her and throwing her into the corner where she landed in a heap. Roman clenched his fists as the guards first noticed the smell, wanting them to just leave so he could go to Neo, who hadn't moved.

"What the f-hey, Chando! We got a dead one."

"Get them against the wall," The second guard, apparently named Chando, ordered. Roman obeyed as the first guard spun and pushed him against the wall, while Chando examined the body of the old man underneath the bedroll.

"Ughhh, like I need this…" he complained, "He's been dead for days! Who the fuck checks this cell? Is it Matsu?"

"Yeah I think so," the first guard replied, not removing his rifle from the back of Roman's head.

"Fucking guy is gonna hear it from me, that rat faunus dead for a week, now this shit. Help me get this geezer to incinerator, will ya?"

"Oh what the f-"

"Get over here and help me! Prisoner: move and we shoot."

"Your wish is my command," Roman muttered.

"Shut up," the second guard said halfheartedly.

The pair hefted the corpse still shrouded in the bedroll, grunting and cursing. Roman waited patiently against the wall as they shuffled out of the cell and kicked the door closed behind them with a string of choice curses.

The moment he heard the lock click he whirled.

"Neo!"

The girl was pushing herself off the floor, arms shaking violently as Roman rushed and knelt by her side. He was unsure of what to do, if he should comfort her or give her space to breathe, so for the time being he just watched her, almost unable to believe she was here at all.

She knelt, rubbing her wrist where her manacles had left angry red ligature marks on her fair skin. She wore a small black, lace dress, though her tiny feet were bare.

"Neo… are you… all right?"  
Roman muttered a curse; he wasn't good at this kind of thing.

"You're back, you're safe... um, breathe deeply."

Neo threw her head back suddenly, tossing her mass of hair behind her and putting her grim countenance on full display. Her eyes were pale and unfocused, like void, and her lips were set in a painful grimace.

"Neo? What did they…Whoa!"

Roman recoiled as Neo drove two filthy fingers deep into the back of her throat, her whole body lurching in response. He was paralyzed as Neo's small form convulsed, her normally silent vocal chords forcing sickly gurgles from her throat as she wretched something into her hands.

Roman had to turn away for a brief moment, lest he end up following suite.

He turned back soon after, Neo wincing as she coughed silently and wiping saliva and trace amounts of blood from the corners of her lips with an angry, pained scowl. Roman stayed silent, and Neo didn't acknowledge him for several seconds. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, rhythmically. Her faint pants were barely audible, wispy as a winter breeze.

She looked to him eventually, liquid trails running from chocolate eyes, even as she did her best to bury her obvious discomfort.

"Neo…"

If there was one thing Roman was good at, besides taking things that didn't belong to him, it was talking, but at the moment he was out of words.

Neo held out her small fist, shiny with saliva. She unfurled her fingers, one by one, and a small, silver key shined in the center of her palm flecked with tiny red stains.

Roman reached for the key hesitantly, looking for and receiving a nod from Neo before taking it in his hands. It was hard to believe that the small, inconspicuous key was all that separated them from freedom, but Neo had set her mind to the mission, and had succeeded nonetheless.

"You did it…" he said still in disbelief, catching the rays of light with the key as he tried to convince himself that it was indeed real, and not just an illusion. He thought back to the old man's final wish, returning his attention to Neo as she continued to breathe slowly and raggedly, one hand on her stomach.

"Couldn't have done better myself," he admitted. He smiled, even as he was taken aback by Neo's determination and resolve. Would he ever know what she went through for this? Did he even want to?

Neo offered a weak smile in return, even as a small trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth before she wiped it away.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He pointed to the corner of his own mouth.

She nodded, waving away his concerns; aura could work wonders with small wounds given time. She looked to the corner of the cell where the old man once slumbered.

"It's just us now," Roman confirmed, suddenly remembering the cloth wrapped over his nose and tearing it off, "You knew him for a while though, so if you want me to say a few words…?"

She didn't respond.

"Right," Roman nodded, "Now, we lay low for a few days, and then we can meet up with M-"

Neo scowled, shaking her head vigorously.

"He told us not to talk to him for two weeks," Roman explained, "I know, but we can't take the chance, it might jeopardize our escape-hey!"

Neo snatched the key from Roman's hand, still shaking her head and frowning. She stabbed a finger to the cell door, clutching the key to her chest and looking to Roman for his response.

 _We're leaving now._

"Neo! This isn't helping! Give it back so we don't lose it!"

Roman reached for the key but Neo dodged, pointing frantically at the door and bearing her teeth. She held out the key clutched in her fist to Roman once more, staring into him with a split gaze of vanilla and strawberry and jabbed her finger once more at the door before letting her hand fall.

 _I can't take this anymore._

Roman sighed in exasperation.

"Okay, we'll find Marcus tomorrow, and we'll see what the next step of the plan is, and if he doesn't like it? Tough break."

Neo nodded sternly. She deftly slipped the key under her tongue, opening her mouth silently so he could judge for himself how well she could hide their possession.

"You won't get any arguments from me," Roman huffed, spreading his hands in concession. "I'm just… glad you're back."

Neo relaxed visibly, closing her mouth and looking away briefly. She calmly reached for Roman's hand, gripping it, and squeezing tightly. She looked back with resolve frosty in her eyes.

 _I'm not afraid. We can do this._

The touch warmed Roman, after the week he had spent alone and dreading the fate of his partner and friend. He cautiously reached his hand out for Neo's head, and when she made no attempt to avoid him, gently ruffled her hair as she closed her eyes.

"Thanks, Neo," he whispered.

* * *

Day 105

They scoured the cafeteria for Marcus Black, searching hundreds of faces as they wandered down the lines of tables. Roman breathed deeply and deliberately, mindful of the many pairs of eyes that tracked him as he strode past tables full of White Fang and Hong Zhao; though he knew it was impossible, it felt like they all knew what he was planning, that he had what they didn't and that they were ready descend upon him at any moment for it.

Neo walked confidently in the opposite direction, two rows to his right. They had been scanning the cafeteria for a solid few minutes in this fashion, row by row, stopping at random intervals to sit down where they could to shake off suspicion. Even so, Roman could have sworn he saw at least a few guards on the peripheries of the room tracking him from behind their masks.

As they drew close to passing one another, Neo finally gave him the signal: three blinks, two pink and one white, followed by a brown blink of her other eye, barely perceptible through the multiple heads towering over the petite girl. It took a moment for him to register and confirm the message, and even as he veered right to meet up with her his heart began to pound.

She had found him-

"GAAAHH!"

Roman jumped, startled as a rabbit faunus from a nearby table screamed at him, cackling as he got his bearings and continued forward. He ignored the taunts and jeers that followed him, the faunus insulting his pride, his tattoos, and even his mother before giving up and joining his table mates in a round of hooting as Roman rendezvoused with Neo around the corner, cursing the animal under his breath.

"Damn beast," he muttered. He fell into step with Neo, and she silently led them to a corner of the room where Marcus Black sat hunched and alone at his own table. The assassin had grown the beginnings of a silver beard in the days between when they had last seen him. He ate calmly, not looking up from his tray even when Neo and Roman sat down immediately across from him.

"I said two weeks."

Marcus spoke before Roman had even opened his mouth.

"We have the key," he cut to the chase undeterred, "It's been long enough, have you done your recon or not?"

Marcus glared across the table, anger carving deep lines into his forehead.

"Funny you mention it; I was actually in the middle of eavesdropping on those two guards over there," he jabbed a thumb over one shoulder, where two guards talked about twenty feet away, "And then you two waltz over here and start talking to me in hushed tones like we're planning to escape or something."

Roman indicated the pair of guards. "You can hear them?"

"You can't?" Marcus scoffed, "What the hell does the Black Circle teach their kids these days, the art of flippant back talk?"

Neo tapped on the table to get the occupants' collective attention, lifting her tongue for a split second so Marcus could see the key underneath for himself. She quickly hid it again as his black eyes widened.

"I don't know how you did it Snowcone, but you did. Fine work."

Neo leered at Marcus, cocking an eyebrow.

"What happens now?" Roman pushed.

"Well," Marcus sighed, "Now that you have the key we need to move quickly, if Russet doesn't already know it's gone, he will soon."

"Why the two weeks then?"

"Didn't know you'd pull it off this quickly; I was expecting our escape to take months."

Marcus finished his food with another bite, swallowing and setting his cutlery aside before speaking.

"The hall on the East side," he pointed to his left, "Is where a lot of the elite guards come from to start their patrols, the two clowns behind me let it slip."

Roman glanced past Marcus at the guards gesturing with their hands as they spoke.

"The other guards generally leave through the West side, so I believe East is the most direct route to the private hangar. Plan A; we can wait for a chance sneak our way out, or Plan B; we create a distraction, and escape in the chaos."

"A distraction like… a riot?" Roman glanced at the rest of the cafeteria, past the crowds of prisoners and to the east hall, indicated by a giant E painted on the wall in red.

"Yeah, like a riot," Marcus said, "And a staged prison brawl isn't going to cut it, it's just gonna get more security watching us at all times; we need something that these perps have never seen before, something they _have_ to pay attention to."

Roman remembered the hot blood flying in all directions as he buried Top Dog's face into the table months ago. If Russet hadn't shown up, he could have possibly started a riot that day; he was surrounded by killers, murderers, and men with nothing to lose but their breath, that outnumbered the security around them by almost five to one. The guards could handle the occasional brawl, but if every man in the cafeteria were made brave, reckless, and angry enough to unleash hell incarnate on everything around them at the same time, it would be a bloodbath. Surviving it would be a challenge all its own, but if they could escape the cafeteria, the three of them could be halfway home by the time the dust settled.

Roman nodded absently, suddenly placing both hands on the table and leaning in with the smile of a man who had just thrown every last poker chip into the pot before rising confidently. Neo gaped as he strode around the table and walked confidently in the direction of the pair of guards behind Marcus.

"What the fuck are you doing?" the assassin hissed. He attempted to grab Roman's arm with lightning speed but missed, by a hair's breadth as Roman sidestepped and continued on his mission. He hummed a meandering, improvised tune as he spun on his heel.

"Plan B," he said with a winning smile, winking at Neo and turning back to his goal. Neo hopped off the table, scurrying into the crowd before the dumbfounded Marcus could follow her.

Roman sauntered towards the pair of guards. They took notice of him and tensed, one drawing a shock baton from his belt and the other flicking the safety off of a dated assault rifle.

"Get on your knees!" the first guard ordered.

"Can you speak up? I can't hear you through that mask!"

Roman continued on undeterred, a few nearby prisoners taking notice of the confrontation.

"On your knees!" The second guard stepped around the first, " _Now_!"

The western side of the cafeteria fell nearly silent as Roman stopped several feet away from the guard. He hung his tongue out from the corner of his lips, rolled his eyes back, and playfully ran his index finger in a slicing motion across his throat the moment before a burst of rounds tore into him, shattering his body into a shower of glass-like shards.

The booming of gunfire echoed through the cafeteria, silencing the entire room as the acute shattering of glass sliced through the very air not moments later. The crystalline remains of Roman Torchwick scattered across the floor like small, glistening grains of sand. Prisoners stared awestruck at the events as the pair of guards stood paralyzed with shock.

"Wh… what!? A semblance!" the guard with the baton exclaimed.

His recognition came too late. Roman Torchwick seemed to burst from the crowd as he bolted for the rifleman of the duo, roaring as he grabbed the barrel of the assault rifle, tore the weapon from the stunned guard's slackened grip and slammed the butt into his mask. He screamed in pain and confusion before Roman put three rounds through his chest, flourishing the weapon afterwards in a display of victory.

The second guard had no chance to retaliate before Neo was upon him, jumping and wrenching the shock baton from his possession with a brutal twist of his arm. She caught the weapon before it hit the floor, bringing her cursing enemy to his knees with precise, electrified attacks before impacting his throat and sending his body convulsing to the floor.

They locked eyes, the realization of what they had just accomplished shared in a meeting of dilated eyes and rapid breath before they faced the crowd; a motley collection of prisoners from all corners of Remnant all struggling to process what they were seeing.

Already the sounds of combat clamored on the peripheries of the cafeteria. The crowd rippled in the distance, as more guards attempted to push their way through to Roman and Neo, but the prisoners between them were unyielding. One by one they stood up from their tables, charging the approaching guards with plastic forks and bare hands alike as they howled in rage and vigor.

A shrill alarm resounded off the walls, but was nearly drowned out by the crowd. Additional guards poured in from the North and South halls at either end of the room and immediately were beset by scores of prisoners hungry for blood. Gunfire had begun to punctuate the commotion, followed by the screams of fallen prisoners and the clattering of bullet casings pinging off of the floor.

And as chaos spread like an inferno, Roman Torchwick grinned ear to ear like he was five years old on his birthday.

"It is good to be back," he said to himself.

Neo stared wide-eyed at the panic, her lips steadily curling upwards as Marcus joined them.

"Stick together!" he yelled over the noise, "We have to get to the other side!"

"Then try to keep up!"

Roman rushed into the crowd brandishing his weapon, a savage battlecry tearing from his lips. Neo flanked him, flourishing the shock baton she had pilfered from the defeated guard, and with Marcus Black following close behind they set upon the pandemonium, charging in the direction of the giant, red E.

Roman pushed aside a bleeding White Fang, shoving the barrel of his weapon into the stomach of the guard that had maimed the faunus and destroying him with a burst of rounds, point blank. As the body crumpled, joining many others on the floor of the cafeteria, Roman wondered if Friedrick Russet himself was watching this on the security cameras, and secretly hoping he would come face to face with the hairless warden as he slaughtered his way to victory so he could show Neo just what revenge felt like.

His lips stretched into a mad grin; the day was here.

* * *

 **I hope they put Torchwick and Neo in the upcoming RWBY Chibi series, that would be so awesome I could die happy. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this extra long chapter. Writing a prison break is a lot harder than I thought it would be when I was imagining this story playing out, but I'm enjoying the challenge. We're getting to the really good stuff now, I can't wait to get to work on the next few chapters!**


	5. Revenge (Part 1)

When he had taken his revenge, his uncle's blood had soaked the floor.

It had soaked his boots, his hands, and his face. At the time, even filled with as much righteous rage as a 14-year-old street rat would need to destroy someone so mercilessly, even someone whose visage had brewed and festered in his nightmares like a noxious wound for years, Roman Torchwick was sure that he would never again see that much blood in one place, smell the piercing metallic odor in such abundance, as he had the night he had taken his revenge, his first life, and his place in the Black Circle's ranks.

But now, amidst the pandemonium that surrounded him, the floor of the cafeteria slick with carnage as the walls echoed with agony, fury, and desperation, he knew that his first murder had yielded only droplets compared to the torrents of blood that stained his feet. Prisoners all around him lay dead or dying upon the floor, guards were sprawled broken across the tops of tables, and if it weren't for the aura he had been trained to summon he would have been among their ranks, many times over.

The Hong Zhao got two more strikes in beneath Roman's ribs, sending him stumbling backwards from the impact. He snarled as his ankle slipped on a corpse, nearly sending him to the floor. The Hong Zhao charged him with a scream and they exchanged martial arts, grappling and striking in a rhythmic dance in the midst of the slaughter. The Hong Zhao threw a fist right into Roman's waiting grasp, and in moments he was tossed aside screaming as Roman broke his arm and hurled him into a nearby guard already hounded by two encroaching White Fang.

He surged forward, trying to clear the distance to the East hall as quickly as his blood-slicked bare feet would allow him, but someone somersaulted directly into his path, and he was thrown to the floor. He recovered into a combat stance, glowering into the eyes of his opponent: Another Black Circle operative evident from the Nevermore tattooed across his throat.

The two fighters locked eyes, and they reconciled in the space between moments: They didn't know one another's names, but now was not the time to divert precious attention to killing a fellow assassin when there were enemies all around them. They nodded curtly, emotionlessly, to one another just before a stray bullet tore through the operative's head.

Roman backpedaled as the life faded from the operative's eyes on his way to the floor, among the defeated. There was a scream as a group of three faunus, two deer and a bull bounded towards Roman, screaming harrowing war cries. He countered a flying kick, ducked beneath another blow but was sent to the floor by a savage strike to his calf, knocking him off balance.

He righted himself just in time to take in the details of the bull faunus' bloody boot sole as it traveled towards his face at a speed too fast to stop.

He braced for impact but felt nothing as Neo flew through the air, her foot slamming directly into the faunus' head and audibly snapping his neck. She recovered on one tiny knee, dodging the vengeful attacks of her foe's deer faunus comrades as she rolled to the side. They converged on her, but she climbed their limbs like rungs on a ladder, hooking her legs around one's neck and using her weight to throw him into the chaos that surrounded them. She used her baton, spent of its shock-Dust charge, on the last one to beat him into submission, delivering a series of rapid strikes as she twirled around him like a dancer and finally slammed him into the floor with a vicious knee strike.

She wasted no time, extending a small hand and pulling Roman to his feet even as he allowed himself the opportunity to marvel at how what a ruthless, efficient killer the girl had become. He didn't want to say she was better than him, as her diminutive stature was a significant advantage in the mob that he didn't share, but there was no question that the skills she had trained painstakingly for were proving deadly in their first live test.

But the both of them looked like novices at best aside Marcus Black. As Neo helped Roman to his feet in the midst of the chaos, the assassin kept all opposition off their backs with martial skill that would have given an experienced Huntsman a run for their lien. He barely used his hands as he held off a group of seven guards, spinning through the air and delivering flying kicks that sent his armored adversaries sprawling. He never let more than one foot touch the ground for more than an instant, even countering and parrying attacks with his feet and knees, all the while remaining focused and aware of all angles at all times.

He disarmed two guards of their shock batons in rapid succession and sent them into the floor with a single flying kick. A third guard attempted to charge him from behind but missed as Black ousted his rifle from his hands with a mule kick and followed with a twisting flying knee strike before his opponent even realized what had happened. The rest of the guards that surrounded him stood no greater chance than their comrades, and were dispatched swiftly with a dizzying display as Marcus dropped to his hands, spinning and whipping his adversaries with his legs, sending them flying in all directions.

Roman swatted aside a flailing guard soaring his way as Marcus turned towards them both, his immediate enemies groaning among the bodies.

"The East hall is just ahead!" he screamed over the clamor, "We have to push forward!"

The sight thirty some feet behind Marcus stole Roman's reply before it could be voiced: In front of the East hall, a heavily armored guard planting his feet and leveling a massive bladed chain gun, barrel spooling and aimed directly at the assassin's back.

"Get down!"

Roman screamed, just as Neo dove into his side and shoved him to the floor. Marcus whipped his head around just as 2,000 rounds per minute ripped through the air. The vicinity was filled with a crimson mist as multiple combatants behind Roman were shredded into paste, the bullets tearing through the aura of those that had it, nigh unhindered. Marcus had taken cover behind an overturned table, grimacing as he bore witness to the slaughter.

The heavily armored guard had seen the two of them dive. He stopped firing, the barrels of his weapon already glowing a bright orange with heat as steam blurred the air in front of him, and swung his focus to the prone forms of Roman and his small partner.

They had seconds.

"Neo!" Roman shouted desperately, "Now!"  
Neo, eyes dilated with panic and adrenaline, sprung to her feet. Roman wasted no time taking off at a sprint; behind him he could hear Neo's illusion shattering as the hail of bullets reduced it to dust. He bolted for Marcus' cover behind the overturned table, and on his way he glanced into the blank visor of the helmeted guard as he once again realigned his aim. The bullets flew, and Roman jumped over the storm of lead as they carved through the floor and bodies alike where his feet had been split seconds ago. He hit the ground, stumbling as he tripped over the gored remains of a body, and as he turned to face his enemy he briefly wondered what it would feel like: Losing his legs as they were annihilated indiscriminately. The guard's back was full with munitions, a belt of massive rounds feeding into his gun; the weapon hissed as he let the barrel cool while he approached Roman menacingly.

"Die, you circle rat."

The voice was thick with an accent, probably northern Vacuan.

Suddenly the guard turned his attention to the left as Marcus Black launched himself into a soaring kick, aiming for the piles of ammo mounted on the guard's armored back. He hit his mark, spinning the guard off balance as the munitions spilled onto the floor. The guard growled in irritation as he righted himself and faced his enemy, flicking a switch on the grip of his weapon.

Marcus recovered and threw a kick just as the chain gun began to shift, its pieces and sections realigning into a massive, single-edged axe. The guard redirected the blow, smashing his weapon into the floor and shaking the very ground. Dust rose and partially obscured Marcus as he cartwheeled away from the blow and assaulted the guard with a flurry of kicks. His attacks rebounded off of the guard's aura, not even hindering him, and he reached for one of Marcus' kicks, caught it with a sinister chuckle, and threw the assassin into the ground.

Roman looked desperately for a weapon; he was practically surrounded by abandoned armaments. Out of the corner of his eye he witnessed the real Neo surging as quickly as her feet would carry her towards their foe. She showed no fear, even as the guard turned his attention to her and readied his chain axe.

Roman grabbed frantically beside him, his hand settling on the grip of a magnum Dust revolver. He scrambled to his feet and aimed the weapon, heavier than anticipated, at his enemy's head. He narrowed his eyes and steadied his grip with his other fist.

"Hey helmet head!"

The guard snapped his attention to Roman.

"Die!"

He pulled the trigger, and the weapon clicked harmlessly.

He blinked. Twice.

"…Oh, you _cannot_ be serious …"

The distraction was mere moments too brief, and the guard quickly returned his attention to the tiny aggressor rushing him head-on, baton gripped and a snarl upon her face as she launched into an aerial kick.

"Neo!" Roman tossed his useless weapon aside as he reached an arm out helplessly.

The massive axe came assuredly, but Neo wrapped a leg around the haft, catching the strike, shifting her weight, and ousting the weapon from her enemy's grip. She whipped her other leg over in a scissor-kick, clanging against the helmet and sending him stumbling away as she landed on one knee.

From behind the guard Marcus was rising to his feet, his aura shielding him from what would otherwise have been a fatal impact earlier. Nonetheless winded, he met Roman's eyes, and the two assassins conveyed in the span of seconds their joint offensive.

They rushed the guard simultaneously, Marcus engaging the barely recovered trooper in a foot-to-fist contest too fast for even Roman's eyes to track. Neo maneuvered behind their enemy and struck at his ankles, stumbling him and chipping away at his aura in tandem with Marcus' lightning feet and knees. As Roman closed the distance he dropped low, reaching for the huge chain axe upon the floor. He gripped with both hands, twisting his hips as he rose and throwing his whole body into moving the gargantuan weapon as his allies dropped to the floor, leaving the guard the only combatant standing.

He brought the unwieldy weapon arcing through the air. He screamed, muscles burning as the guard stood and weakly raised his hands, a second too late. There was an incorporeal flash, followed by a sickly crunch as the heavy axe decimated the remains of his aura and sunk halfway into his armored body. Blood fountained from the grievous wound, splattering Roman as he fell to one knee. The heavy axe haft slipped from his hands, and its weight guided the bleeding, defeated enemy to his final rest upon the cafeteria floor with a thud.

The trio stood panting. Roman could feel his veins pumping from the rush of combat. Barely audible breaths drifted from Neo's open mouth as the sounds of gunfire still echoed off the cafeteria walls. The fighting had devolved into several isolated skirmishes now, too many to count, fought between all manner of factions from White Fang and Hong Zhao to the remaining guards and the occasional Black Circle operative. Blood stained the floor, the walls, overturned tables, and the majority of Roman's very skin. The trio was removed from the gauntlet for now, but it wouldn't be long before either the security personnel or the prisoners claimed the cafeteria and spread the carnage to the halls of The Maw.

"East Hall is behind us," Marcus breathed, shaking out his legs as he recovered while Roman or Neo were still catching their breath, "Just in case you two were getting lost in the sights."

Roman held up a hand.

"Yeah, I noticed," he heaved, "I need a weapon."

Neo was already at work scouring the ground for the most effective discarded arms she could find. She procured a basic gunblade and handed it to Roman, using both of her small arms. He took the weapon in his hand, a semi-automatic, single-edged pistol grip knock-off of a Schnee Arms model about two decades out-dated, complete with a chibi Ursa charm dangling from the grip; it was no combat cane, but it would do for now.

"Thanks kiddo."

Neo nodded her acknowledgement as she discarded her spent shock baton for another with a full charge. She whacked the corpse of the fallen heavy trooper, satisfied with the audible zap and the glow of shock Dust emitted from the weapon.

"If you two are finished…" hurried Marcus.

"Yeah, yeah; right behind you."

They set off for the East Hall, the sounds of combat fading behind them as soon as they left the cafeteria. The difference was immediately noticeable; clearly the cellblocks of The Maw were not nearly as well maintained as the guard's quarters were. The walls were still metal, but the occasional fluorescent light set in the low ceiling illuminated their cleanliness compared to the squalid, rusty filth that coated the prison halls.

"Any idea how Russet maintains this operation?" Roman asked as the trio jogged briskly down the halls, Marcus taking point. The assassin stopped at a two-way intersection and peeked around the corner.

"People pay money," he said plainly, "Money to lock away their dregs, money to buy them back, and he pays mercs that have no better options to keep them all in line. This place was originally a Mantle prison during the Great War, and it's built to resist Grimm attacks; there are worse ways to make a living than selling people and living in a fortress where the Grimm can't get you."

Marcus set off around the corner, and Roman brought up the rear behind Neo; his limbs burned with exhaustion, his head felt light and airy, but he pressed on knowing that soon he would be free of this place. Ahead of him Neo kept pace with Marcus, and he marveled at her spirit. She had been here for so long, and here she was pressing her frail form to her limits for the promise of freedom. Her breath was heavy, her hair was matted with sweat, but she would not give up, and Roman wondered if he would have been able to persist in her shoes, or lack thereof. Whether it was willpower, desperation, or both that sustained her, her effort was admirable.

For several minutes they traversed the halls, finding most of them deserted and proceeding upwards wherever possible. It appeared that more than a few prisoners had escaped the cafeteria before them, as they passed several dormitories all devoid of guards, and would find their slain corpses among groups of fallen prisoners at key junctions: the results of failed, desperate skirmishes. Better them than him, Roman figured, at least they had died fighting.

They passed a ladder on the left leading into the already-low set ceiling as Marcus checked the corner as per method, only this time he quickly retreated behind the cover of the wall, just as a burst of bullets cut the air where his head had been. He cursed through gritted teeth.

"This is it," he said, "The hangar door; there's a squad of guards in front of it, and they're dug in."

"You sure?" Roman asked.

"It's a big fucking door," Marcus spat quickly, "Squad of guards, sandbags, upper level, fortified door. 'Don't see how it could get more obvious."

Roman could hear the indistinct shouting of the aforementioned squad, followed by the clacking of a reloading weapon.  
"Well, what's the plan?"

Neo tugged on Roman's pant leg, getting his attention.  
"What is it, Snowcone?" Marcus hurried with audible agitation.

Neo scowled, rolling her multichromatic irises. She didn't waste time, trotting backwards and gripping the first rung of the rusted ladder they had all but ignored in their haste. She pointed up and towards the hangar door before climbing up, ignoring Roman's confused expression.

"You know where that leads?"  
Neo's small feet disappeared into the ceiling before she could even indicate an answer.

"She's flanking them through the ventilation system…?" Marcus half-questioned, half-stated.

Roman nodded after a moment of brief thought.

"Let's make sure they don't see her coming."

He edged past Marcus and blindly fired his gunblade around the corner, to which the enemy responded with a hail of rounds that struck the far wall as he quickly pulled his arm back.

"How many bullets do you have for that thing?"  
"Enough," Roman answered, not looking at his weapon as he braced himself to shoot again; he didn't know if the route Neo was planning on taking would leave her an easy target, or if she even knew where she was going. He didn't even know how many of them there were, and he doubted his aura would hold up to a frontal assault. He had to keep their attention focused on the threat ahead of them so maybe Neo would have a chance.

"Enough, huh?" Marcus scoffed, "Did you have _enough_ when you fired an empty pistol at an armored shocktrooper in the cafeteria?"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Roman roared, "Not the time!"

There was a _crash_ around the corner followed by a series of panicked shouts. All hesitation forgotten, Roman whipped around the corner just as the sound of shell casings were pinging off the floor. Neo had dropped from the ceiling, the misshapen vent she had dislodged still teetering on the ground as she darted between the legs of five guards, whipping their legs with her baton and sending them stumbling backwards in pain as they fired in all directions. Some tripped and fell over the sandbag fortifications they had erected. One managed to extricate himself from the melee and took aim at Neo, finger on the trigger of his submachine gun as he waited for an opportunity to fire clear of allies.

Roman took a shot without hesitation; the round missed the enemy but knocked the weapon from his hands, leaving him standing unarmed and confused as his ruined weapon was thrown against the large, steel door behind him.

It was all Neo could do to keep knocking the remaining enemies that surrounded her back. She had disarmed two of them, but the others were deflecting her attacks with their own firearms. All four troops were attempting to reign in the chaos, but it only resulted in a crossfire of haphazard orders being shouted indiscriminately as the small girl in their midst continued to keep them back with a continued storm of electrified attacks.

Marcus surged past Roman, closing the distance between himself and the disarmed guard with large strides and taking him out with a jumping kick to the helmet. He unleashed his formidable skill on another guard, tripping him and breaking his neck with quick kneecap.

Roman made for the fight, ready to assist, but his allies were now more than capable of handling things. Neo grabbed the barrel of an enemy's rifle and pulled him forward into her waiting baton strike while Marcus used a backwards-somersaulting kick to send a disarmed guard flying into the ceiling and slamming back into the floor with two resounding thuds.

One guard remained backed into the corner; he had managed to hold onto his weapon but tossed it aside, knelt, and held up his gloved hands in surrender.

"Black!" he shouted, "Y-you're Marcus Black right? I'm the guy who got you in here!"

Roman strode forward, stepping over the sandbags as Marcus eyed the surrendering guard. Roman glanced quickly at each of the bodies; they were all either dead or wounded severely enough that they wouldn't be troubling the party anytime soon.

"Your source?" he asked Marcus.

"Yeah."

The assassin was expressionless. Neo ignored the exchange, examining the massive hangar door. She placed a hand on the steel; even a glance could tell it was thick enough to hold a lesser Grimm at bay.

"I didn't know you were gonna tear the place up," the guard admitted, shaking hands still in the air, "But how about I just get out of your way, yeah? I don't care if you guys get away or not, really! I'll just-"

Marcus wrapped a leg around the guards' neck without moving an arm. There was a surprised pause, followed by a quick twist of Marcus' hips as the guard's neck snapped; his arms fell limp, and the assassin stepped back as the body slumped to the floor, lifeless.

"Whoa, what the-!" Roman tensed, "Is that how you treat every ally!?"

He raised his gunblade to Marcus' throat, which the assassin only regarded with a disdainful expression. Neo had spun away from the door and looked between the two men, unsurely raising her baton at Marcus while looking to Roman for clarification.

"He wasn't an ally, he was a source," Marcus said calmly, "His codename was Filcher, I paid him to get me in here, and that's about as far as our relationship went; like hell I'm going to let him run off to pick up a gun and shoot us in the back."

He looked down at Neo, ignoring the weapons leveled at him.

"Snowcone, key."

Neo shook her head, frowning.

"How can we know that?" Roman steadied his one handed grip with his other hand, "How do I know you won't bump us off as witnesses as soon as we're clear of this place?"

"I could have left you to die in the cafeteria, and taken that key from Snowcone's dead mouth," Marcus growled.

"Her name," Roman spoke lowly, "Is Neopolitan."

Marcus sighed.

"Whatever Sn… Neopolitan, Torchwick, I'm sorry, but there's no bringing that punk back now. I could knock those weapons out of your hands, take the key, and be home free, but instead, I'm hoping you'll put them down."

Roman's eyelid twitched.

"All we have to do," Marcus slowly raised his hands in a gesture of peace, "Is turn the key, steal a bullhead, and all three of us are free. You'll go your way, I'll go mine, we all live to be the only people alive to ever escape The Maw, and whatever happens to you after that means jack shit to me."

Neo glanced at Roman, and after a few tense moments of deliberation, he let his weapon down by his side.

"Right," Roman kept his eyes locked onto Marcus', "Neo, give him the damned key."

Neo spat the key into her hand, and offered it to Marcus, who took it with motions more deliberate than necessary.

There was a square panel on the door with a small keyhole, and as Marcus inserted the silver key Roman almost had difficulty believing such an unassuming, basic item would unlock the massive door that served as the sole obstacle between the three prisoners and freedom.

The panel swung outward, revealing a flat screen dominated by the outline of a handprint. The party looked on silently; a pulse scanned lazily over the screen as a seemingly innocuous message blinked at the bottom:

IDENTIFICATION PLEASE

"A handprint scanner…" Marcus breathed.

"…FUCK!"

Roman spun and slammed his weapon into the wall. He recoiled from the impact as he discharged a stray bullet with a resounding _boom_ in the narrow space.

"Calm the fuck down!" Marcus shouted.

"Fuck you!" Roman spat, "Your source didn't tell you about _this_ , did he!?"

He gestured angrily at the corpse of Filcher slumped in the corner.

"No, he didn't!" Marcus huffed, "It's probably Russet's hand, if we just-"

"Oh! Sure!" Roman threw his hands into the air as he spun on his heel in rage, "It's as simple as that! Let's just trek through this entire prison, low on aura, even lower on ammo, until we find that fuck, and then drag him back here kicking and screaming! So easy, a faunus could do it!"

"We don't need him alive," Marcus rapped calloused knuckles against the scanner standing sentry against their escape, "This is cheap tech, Merlot Industries, I dealt with a scanner just like this one on a job a few years ago; all we need is his hand… attached or not."

Roman ground his teeth; the exhaustion in his weak limbs was palpable and throbbing, but regardless, this outcome was unavoidable. He had promised Neo vengeance, and if he left The Maw without reclaiming Melodic Cudgel, and paying Russet back for all the cruelty he had inflicted, directly or otherwise, the guilt would follow him to his grave.

He cursed under the cover of breath.

"You know what? _Good_ ; Now I have an excuse to go back for that son of a bitch."

"Neo took the key," Marcus hurried, "She must know where his quarters are, or maybe wherever he'd hole up in the event of a riot."

Neo was relatively unexpressive. She stood silently against the door, blankly staring into space as Roman and Marcus argued within the halls. At the sound of her nickname she seemed to snap back into reality, blinking and turning her attention to Marcus.

"You do, right?" the assassin pressed her, "Where would he be? We're not leaving without his handprint, and if you could get the key, you must at least know where we could start looking for him. I seriously doubt any print besides his will work."

Roman turned to Neo. The girl was trying to keep her composure, and if it were anyone else looking into her mismatched eyes they would likely not have been privy to the understated shaking of small hands; the hesitation in the dilated vanilla pupils.

"Neo," Roman started, "It's time."

She swallowed visibly.

Three months ago he had spoken of vengeance, and had galvanized her so. He knew she was afraid; the feelings he knew she harbored, they had no names, fear being merely the closest approximation. When she nodded, eyes closing with determined resignation, Roman glimpsed something in his partner and friend that was rare even amongst those he had met unobstructed by the walls of a prison: Bravery, channeled through the malnourished, gaunt limbs of a small girl that had endured horrors capable of breaking most people. Yet, she faced them willingly, because she knew she had to, one final time to secure her freedom.

"He's probably hiding, right?" Roman nodded, "Where is he? We'll find him and kill him together."

Neo pushed off from the door, starting off down the hall past Roman with eyes set straight ahead. She beckoned over her shoulder for him to follow.

"Wait," Marcus held up a hand, and Neo turned, fear nearly masked by impatience.

"Someone has to stay behind, to make sure none of Russet's goons get to set up another ambush in this hall."

"Or they'll be waiting for us when we get back," Roman postulated, "It makes sense that they'd gather at the main exit to cut off all escape."

"The prisoners did a number on the total guard population in this place," Marcus stated, "But you can bet your ass the ones that are left will be regrouping here; I think you can hold them here Torchwick, let me and Snowcone take care of Russet."

Roman's eyes narrowed.

"Not a chance," he shook his head, "That fuck has my cane, and I have a score to settle."

"Make no mistake kid, Russet is good; you're talented, but I've got years on you, so-"

"So," Roman interjected, "You guard this spot, and Neo and I will bring Russet's hand back with us."

"He's ex-Black Circle, like you."

"Good, I'll know his moves."

"He was a member of the Imperium!"

Roman's next words caught in his throat.

The Imperium: The leaders of the Black Circle, not just in Vale, but across all of Remnant. No one ever saw them, or talked to them; all orders were communicated first to underbosses, like Giovane, but every Operative in the Circle knew who really ran the show. It was almost impossible to be promoted to the Imperium, and if you did, it meant you were good.

Damn good.

"It doesn't matter," Roman said finally, "I can't let Neo go without me, we fight best as a team."

Marcus swore violently.

"Torchwick, don't be a prideful idiot!"

"I won't be!" Roman spread his hands and grinned, spinning on his heel down the hall to face Neo.

"I'll be a _victorious_ idiot."

Neo looked between Marcus and Roman with trepidation in her eyes. For a moment Roman thought she was going to protest, indicate that she thought it was a better idea to go with Marcus, or possibly even buckle and refuse to go all together, her fear combined with talk of Russet's skill together too much for her to face.

But she held firm, waiting until Roman took a few steps forward and stepped over the sandbag in his path before setting off down the hall, leading the two of them in the opposite direction from the door and towards either the vengeance she had been promised, or certain death.

"Fine, it's your funeral!" Marcus called, "I'll hold this door, but if you're not back in an hour I'm finishing what you started and getting the hell out of here!"

"We'll be back!" Roman called over his shoulder, "With Russet's cold, dead hand!"

"I'll hold you to that!"

Neo rounded the corner, and together the duo proceeded down the halls once more.

Roman followed Neo at a brisk but manageable pace; she was probably conserving what little strength she had left, and Roman had no objections. Still he couldn't help but notice her fear; he hands were shaking, and her head checked every corner multiple times, as if Russet were a phantom that was constantly breathing down her neck, and could attack at any moment, wherever she was.

Truth be told, Roman couldn't fully calm the buzzing in his own nerves; he was exhausted, famished, amped by the frenzy of combat and killing after months of sedentary suffering, and though he had often dreamt of killing Russet during his time spent trapped within the walls of The Maw, complete with reclaiming his weapon, his anticipation of the impending showdown was made heavy by the realization that he could lose.

He had never considered it, as even among the Black Circle his skill with a cane was recognized as well-honed and deadly, and combined with Neo's apt, if fresh combat abilities he had always thought Russet would be an easy kill, if the fight were ever to occur.

Three months after his arrival in this accursed place, and the fight was here: a malnourished Black Circle Operative and his talented-but-hastily-trained-at-best protégé, filled with visible fear and similarly burdened with fatigue, against a fresh, ex-member of the Imperium, the shadowy leadership of the oldest assassin cult in Remnant.

That didn't mean anything: It was still two against one, at least the advantage of numbers was their own. Roman wrestled his breathing under control, focusing his attention on Neo, who drove onwards ahead of him despite the visible tremors coursing through her fingers.

"Neo…" he started almost with realizing it.

She responded with the quickest of look backs, both eyes pale as she continued on unabated.

"This is… you ready for some revenge?" he attempted to distract her.

She nodded curtly.

"Just stay focused," he checked behind them as they passed the body of a prisoner slumped against a corner, "There's two of us, and one of him… where is the bastard anyway?"

Neo stopped as if on cue. She pointed a finger to a set of ornate wooden doors wrought with golden filigree and twin handles; set against the dreary metal halls they looked completely alien and out of place.

"…Huh, tacky," Roman sneered, "How much did he spend getting _those_ put in here?"

Neo lowered her hand, clenching and unclenching a shaking fist. Her other hand moved her baton in small circles. She stared at the doors with deep breaths, studying them with unfocused eyes.

It made Roman uncomfortable.

"They're probably locked, aren't they?" he wondered aloud.

Neo stepped forward, hesitantly at first, and then forcefully as she swung her baton against one of the golden handles, sending it clattering across the floor in large pieces with the force of her blow. She kicked the door, barefooted, and it groaned inwards as she stepped back with clenched fists.

Roman whistled at the display; aura or no, it was unearthly to see someone of Neo's size supply her own invitation like that. He was glad they were on the same side.

"Well then…" he breathed, adjusting his grip on his gunblade, "Shall we?"

Roman did his best to appear completely inapprehensive as he stepped past Neo and through the ornate door, still not entirely ready to fight Russet, but completely unprepared for the opulence that greeted him.

While his prisoners' living space wasn't even worthy of being called squalor, Russet lived like a noble; his suite, lit by a gaudy electric chandelier, was filled with treasures and trinkets from across all corners of Remnant. The rug was a lavish blood red, and a decorative balcony looked over the room beneath another door flanked by two rounded staircases. An additional doorway to the left, open, revealed the characteristic stark white of a lavatory; two suits of armor, one ancient Atlesian and the other that of a Vale Royal Knight, stood in the far corners encased in glass. Various exotic plants were potted around the room, and a Mistralian oak desk stood in front of a large, paned window on the right, from which the only natural light in the room originated.

…A damned _window_.

"Whoa…" Roman wondered how long it had been since he had seen the sun as he strode cautiously towards the desk. A stone bust, an ancient God of a culture long extinct, with tentacles like a squid where its mouth should have been rested upon the desk opposite an antique brass phonograph, both objects kissed by the pale light that streamed through the window. He pressed a hand against the chilled glass and gazed out upon a vista of ice-capped mountain peaks, framed against a grey morning sky as a gentle Atlesian snowfall tumbled onto the windowsill outside, just beyond his fingers.

Everything else momentarily forgotten, Roman gazed upon the sight for a few breathless seconds.

"Neo!" He whirled, "Neo, come see this!"

The girl was frozen in the center of the room, hazy eyes locked on the door beyond the balcony, snapping out of her trance a few brief moments after Roman had called to her. Taking one last look at the door she hastily skipped over to Roman, who moved aside to let the girl take in the sight for herself.

It had been months since he'd seen the world outside the walls that surrounded them, but as Neo's eyes became clear and wide, and her lips parted in voiceless wonder, Roman wondered if she had even known what Remnant looked like before this moment.

"We're getting out of here Neo," he assured, "We'll probably fly right over those mountains on our way out; no more walls, guards, or halls that smell like shit; there's a world out there that has private bathrooms, and we're here to grab our one-way-ticket."

Neo looked back at Roman with evident wonder still sparkling in her eyes. The beginnings of a smile ghosted over her lips before she blanched, her entire body tensing as a voice, nasal and sharp, cut the air.

"Enjoying the view?"

Roman spun into a combat stance, leveling his gunblade at the lone warden on the balcony, leering down at them with smug disdain. The polished tips of his armored shoes glistened under the artificial light of the chandelier. His gloved hands rested atop the curved head of Melodic Cudgel. He wore his ever present fitted, blood-red suit and black bowler hat, complete with red band and feather, from under which not a single hair protruded, thin lips set in the most understated of grins, beset with amusement yet devoid of charm as his black eyes bored into the trespassers of his quarters.

"It is lovely," he said, cocking his head as he glanced at the window, "Particularly when the full moon hits the ice atop the peaks; the ancient local legends believed them to be the frozen tears of the moon goddess, Mondschwenze. We have time, so by all means, feel free to finish your sightseei-"

The _boom_ of a single bullet cracked the air as Roman fired his weapon, Russet instantly deflecting the round into the wall with a swing of Melodic Cudgel.

"Oh, look who has time to sit around and read history while his prisoners try to breathe through the stench of their own piss."

Roman's lips were stretched in a humorless smile, the barrel of his pilfered gunblade smoking as his eyes glowered with emerald venom.

Russet tutted, "Rude _and_ no love for academia; I'm not sure whether I should be disappointed with the schools, the Black Circle, or your parents, Zero."

"Maybe if you'd kindly directed me to the library on my first day here," Roman gestured wide, "I would be lounging in a chair, _educating_ myself, instead of killing my way to your nest, where I'm about to murder you, slowly and violently."

"Pfft, as if I'd waste books on the scum of Remnant," Russet dismissed, "Perish the thought."

Obsidian eyes wandered to Neo, frozen in place behind Roman. The warden's eyes studied her as if Roman didn't exist, his grin widening to reveal a set of immaculate teeth.

"You may have killed my guards, and set my operation back a few years at best in damages, but at least you brought me my favorite little muffin, Zero."

Russet giggled, a sound not unlike the wheezing of a dying animal.

"I'm so happy you're alive and unharmed, little muffin; that blood-soaked tussle was no place for a fragile little child. Come here, let's gather your dresses and shoes so we can be rid of this madness."

Neo sneered, baring her teeth as she raised her baton. Her eyes flashed, and she smashed her weapon into the bust on the desk, breaking the stone and sending it shattering against the floor before stabbing her arm straight ahead as if to impale the warden, where it remained in the air, shaking, but unyielding.

Roman couldn't help but smile as Russet's grin faltered, and the skin that should have been host to at least traces of an eyebrow twitched in irritation.

"Her name is Neopolitan," Roman spoke, leveling his weapon to join in Neo's act of defiance, "And she's with me, you hairless, deranged, slave-trading freak."

Gloved fingers tightened on Melodic Cudgel as Russet stared daggers of ice into Roman and Neo both.

"For now," he muttered, "But the Maw is my kingdom, Zero."

Russet spread his hands, reaching his free one for the bowler hat atop his head. He removed it with a flourish, placing it gently upon the balcony to reveal the multi-eyed, winged Grimm dragon tattooed atop his hairless skull.

"Lay down your weapons… and I _might_ just sell you to someone else."

"Well then consider this regicide," Roman growled, eyes white with fury as Neo stood beside him unbowed, "Because you're dead, _king_ , and I'm taking your crown."

Russet's predatory grin returned.

"That would be something, wouldn't it?"

A gloved hand reached into a blood red pocket, and tossed a crimson crystal underhanded. It spiraled up towards the center of the suite, and then back down as the ruthless warden lined up the shot.

Roman's eyes shot wide.

"Burn Dust!"  
Melodic Cudgel whistled like a firecracker moments before the crystal shattered, and an inferno too bright for eyes engulfed the room in flames.

 **TL;DR: It's been a while but I'm back, I'm still working on this story and I'm going to finish it come hell or high water, and I split this chapter into two parts because it would have been colossal otherwise and it's been longer than usual since I released something.**

 **Two months and a week. This update was way overdue, and in the interim I watched this story gain more followers and reviews (I love you all). Until now I managed to crank out a chapter a month; I have a full-time job, but this story remains one of the primary creative focuses in my life, and I have it planned to completion and will finish it.  
Unfortunately the past two months were a living nightmare that only now am I seeing come to an end. Moving out of and into a new apartment is a difficult and time-consuming enough task, but on top of moving my job began to demand more hours of my time, I was robbed, and only recently am I getting my money back, and plans for multiple places fell through one after another, as all the while my move out date got closer and closer. The entire time I felt horrible about not being able to work on this story, and there was even a point where I was wondering if I would even finish it.  
But I have a new apartment now. I'm getting my money back. The volume 4 hype is filling me with energy, and I sat down and finished this (half of a) chapter in two days. I just want to say thank you to everyone looking forward to updates on this story for reading and critiquing my work, and waiting patiently through that uncomfortably long pause. This chapter was originally going to be much longer, more than twice the length of the previous four, so I decided to split it into two parts because a) it would have been long as hell, and b) I wanted you all to have something new to read on this story, and for you to know that I am still working on this, and am hell bent on finishing it.  
Thank you from the bottom of my heart**

-Rampag3


	6. Revenge (Part 2)

The flames scorched the wood of the desk as Roman hunkered down behind it. He could feel it burning against his back as he shielded Neo from the flames, gritting his teeth. The girl was curled into his body as she made her petite form even smaller to fit in his arms.

The explosion had been loud and searing but it had died quickly, and as soon as the flames gave way to thick wisps of smoke he pulled away from the charred wood and released Neo from his protective embrace.

"Run!" he ordered, not wasting any time, "He could be anyw-"

A breath of smoke stole the words from his lungs as he coughed. Neo gaped in worry. She hesitated visibly, shaking her head and gripping one of Roman's arms as she tried to pull him to his feet.

"Go!" Roman shouted, withdrawing his arm, "I'll be fine!"

He hurried to his feet, spitting onto the singed rug. There was nothing preventing Russet from firing again at their current position; grouped so close together, it was an opportune moment to take them out with another Dust detonation, or even a single round from Melodic Cudgel. Roman knew his weapon, he had personally requested that it be fitted with a cannon capable of firing explosive Dust rounds, collateral damage be damned, and Russet had had three months to test out its features with his own hand. He vaulted the desk, trying to create space between Neo and himself, and dashed for the farther of the two staircases that led to Russet's balcony vantage point.

Surely enough he heard it: the telltale whistle of his weapon as Russet fired at the already decimated rug that covered the floor. He jumped, but the splash from the round threw him off course; he spun several times through the air before landing on his ribs in the corner, gritting his teeth.

"If you have a moment, Zero," Russet announced from atop his balcony, "I would like my key back; my guess is that you came to take my handprint, because the key that little Muffin stole would be of no use to you without it."

Russet twirled Melodic Cudgel around one wrist, tauntingly displaying his other palm with stretched, wiggling fingers. Roman righted himself, facing Russet as he patted out the tiny flames licking his slacks. From the corner of his vision he glanced Neo sneaking up the other staircase, but tried not to focus on her, lest he give away her approach.

"Then go get it from Marcus Black," he shouted, throwing a thumb over one shoulder in the direction of the doors, "He's a world class assassin; I'm sure he would be no match for someone who _ran away_ from the Imperium!"

"You would have run away too," Russet shrugged, "The Imperium was disappointingly blasé, for all the mystery surrounding it."

"You mean you couldn't collect antique suits of armor, throw people in cells, and play with them whenever you felt like it in the Imperium?"

The warden scowled.

"I do this for the good of Remnant!" he snapped, "I used to run an _assassin_ cult, and now I lock away Remnant's trash, like _you_ , behind walls where they can't hurt anyone!"

Neo was up the stairs, approaching Russet's side.

"And I've made a fortune doing just that!"

He gestured to the treasure that covered his abode, only half of which was still intact after the recent Dust-inferno.

"Of course, sometimes I have to keep some of my capital in line, or they might _kill_ one another, like you killed Top Dog, you violent little rat."

"I remember that," Roman laughed, "One of the highlights of my little vacation in your cesspit; I'd do it again just to see the look on your face!"

"My point exactly," Russet announced with a frown and a shake of his bald, tattooed head, "Violent vermin like you belong in cages."

"Can't disagree with you there," Roman agreed with a giant fake smile, "But what about her?"

At that moment Neo jumped forward, swinging her baton for the warden.

"Where does _she_ belong?"

The attack was blocked as Russet flicked Melodic Cudgel to the side, and Roman watched Neo slam into the balcony railing as her momentum was redirected against her with seemingly little effort exerted; the pale warden didn't even look surprised, face adorned with a small, bemused grin. She fell to the floor, where Russet delivered a vicious kick to her stunned form.

"Neo!" Roman screamed in horror as the girl curled up in defense behind the railing; Her aura was taking the blows for now, but it wouldn't hold for long, not at that range, and when she feared their enemy so much.

Roman's face contorted in rage.

 _How dare you_ he thought _;_ _everything you've done_ , _you_ _bald freak._

Roman had never claimed to be a saint, he knew he was a criminal; a thief, and a killer, but as he watched the man above him justify his cruelty like he was on some kind of soapbox before kicking a child and _smirking_ … he could feel his blood bubble to a boil.

"I can't tell if Zero is a talentless teacher," Russet prattled, "Muffin is a lazy pupil…"

He reached down, hoisting Neo into the air by one of her tiny wrists, "…or if I haven't quite lost it yet after all!"  
Russet moved to throw her; he drew his arm back, Neo writhing in pain as she tried to extricate herself from his grip to no avail.

"Away with you, Muffin," Russet chided, "The grown-ups are talk-"

Roman leapt for the warden, launching himself off the staircase railing into a flying slash with a bloodthirsty scream. Russet dropped Neo to the ground as he blocked the blow with both hands; even so, the momentum forced him back a step as the impact sent sparks flying from both weapons. Roman rolled into a hasty combat stance, clashing weapons with Russet again mere moments after his airborne attack.

The two men stood in a weapon lock, boring into one another's eyes past the screeching and sparks of metal-on-metal.

"Get away from her," Roman growled, "Right no-"

With a light grunt, Russet shifted his weight, maneuvering Roman against the railing. A quick twist of his hips and ankle and Roman was forced back over the balcony and down to the floor, where he landed with a less-than-graceful roll recovery. Russet's aura flared briefly as he followed Roman down, his gleaming, armored shoes alighting upon the burnt remains of his rug.

"I tire of your threats, vermin," Russet spoke, all traces of amusement gone and replaced by cold, constrained fury.

"Get up, and see how long you hold against the might of the Imperium."

Roman was already on his feet. He flourished his gunblade with a few spins before charging Russet in the center of the room, and sparks flew once more as the two warriors clashed.

It didn't take long for Roman to deduce that he was outclassed, significantly. Russet had years on him, and his moves were more precise and complicated. He had full aura, which protected him and augmented his strength and speed as he willed. He was fresh, and confidently focused on destroying Roman almost single-mindedly whereas Roman found it a challenge to keep his feet moving as he tried not to worry about Neo; if he could just hold Russet off for long enough, she would eventually rise and join the fight, and then _maybe_ the two of them together could outmaneuver the sadistic warden and wear his formidable aura down.

They spun in a dizzying contest of footwork and finesse, the room resounding with the rhythmic clanging of weaponry. Roman pressed the attack but he was unable to gain any meaningful ground; Russet had a cane, _his_ cane, and was utilizing cane-based countering techniques, and aside a few glancing blows easily absorbed by the warden's aura, truly penetrating his defense with a simple gunblade seemed a madman's task. He rolled to the side, rising and swinging the gunblade into a feint before spinning around and swinging diagonally in the other direction, only for Russet to hook the blade of his weapon and pull him stumbling forward into his waiting kneecap.

Roman was sent sprawling, clutching his gunblade with a white-knuckled grip. He rose slowly, a hand on his injured abdomen as Russet chuckled.

"Credit where credit is due," he admitted, "I'm impressed that you've lasted this long. I haven't had a duel like this in ages, what fun this is!"

"So glad you're entertained," Roman drawled, "Now shut up so we can finish this."

They clashed once more. Roman resorted to the most complicated techniques he knew, but Russet parried every attack, at exactly the right moments. He led Roman into a downward swing and jabbed his ribs with the tip of Melodic Cudgel, and he was knocked off balance, grimacing in piercing agony. He had nary a chance to recover, as Russet ousted his gunblade with a smack to the wrist. It clattered against the ground, leaving Roman disarmed as his wrist throbbed.

"You can't defeat me!" Russet declared, "Every kata you've learned I've known for longer; there isn't a move you know that I can't counter!"

Roman glowered at the laughing warden.

"That so?"

He rushed his opponent, recklessly and without warning; If Russet knew all his moves, then we wouldn't use them.

His gamble paid off, and he caught the warden off guard. He took hold of Melodic Cudgel, and the two grappled and wrestled with the weapon as Roman tried to push Russet into the floor. He soon gave up trying to wrench his weapon free, and used it as leverage to reach forward, clawing and striking at his opponent's face ruthlessly; in the melee he managed get a few hits in, drawing forth a string of snarls and curses from Russet's lips. He threw multiple hooks in rapid succession, chipping away at the warden's aura, each strike a promise that he would fight until the very end before he was finally shoved away, stumbling.

"Clever little rat," Russet snarled, wiping his mouth on the back of his glove.

Roman tried to maintain his balance, and disarmed as he was, attempted to rush Russet again, but this time the warden was ready. He stepped to the side, hooked Roman's neck and pulled, and forehead met kneecap.

His head rang, pierced by a high-pitched drone as he saw only stars. He was vaguely aware of his bones, his burning legs as he stumbled away, and when the stars faded from his eyes Russet stood meters in front of him, back turned as he sauntered away. He spun on his heel before Roman could react, aimed Melodic Cudgel at the floor, and with a brief, nasal grunt of satisfaction, fired at the floor.

The explosion detonated right at his feet. As Roman was thrown towards the ceiling, he knew that was the moment when his aura gave out. Visible energy flared along his body as he felt a sudden emptiness, and when he landed in a heap on the balcony he had nothing to take the impact with but his own flesh and bones.

He met the ground with enough force to knock away his breath, and for a moment he laid contorted, pain flooding his weakened body as he moaned in anguish. His hands floundered as he tried to push himself to his feet, but the pain wracking his body made movement impossible. He looked around; he could hear Russet cackling downstairs through the ringing in his ears. Neo's discarded shock baton lay just a few feet away where she had dropped it before, but she was nowhere to be found.

He couldn't give up, they had to get away: he and Neo. Russet had to die. Giovane had to die. He needed answers. Why was he here? Why had the Circle betrayed him? He couldn't give up. Not now.

Roman reached for the shock baton with outstretched fingers, barely brushing its grip and rolling it towards him. He could hear Russet's shoes clicking as he slowly, casually ascended the staircase to his left, and he forced himself to move. The pain came back in waves as he crawled forwards, towards the double doors that led presumably to the bedroom.

His body wanted to give up; how easy it would be to submit to the peace of death, but through the haze of fatigue he called forth his anger, his pride, and forced himself to fight. To _survive_. He shook and groaned as he stood, pulling himself up on the door handle, but under his weight the door swung inward and he stumbled before stabilizing himself against the doorframe. He gazed through blurry vision at a king-size double bed, draped with maroon curtains and surrounded by lit candles.

There was a cold chuckle behind him before the metal tip of Russet's shoe jabbed him in the back, and with a cry he fell forward to the carpeted floor. He crawled forward and propped himself against the bedframe with one hand while the other clung desperately to the shock baton, his only weapon.

Fresh pain radiated from his back along his spine and into his ribs, forcing him to clench his teeth to keep from crying out. He tried to keep his head from lolling as he focused on Russet, the warden striding into the room slowly, as if he had all the time in the world to savor his victory. He laughed, shoulders shaking as Roman heaved, desperate for breath.

"You never disappoint, Zero!" Russet laughed, "Good show, good show, and still moving! The best duel I've had in a decade, personally, I haven't had a fight like that since I killed my first huntsman!"

"Be… quiet…" Roman feebly raised his shock baton only for it to be swatted aside instantly, where it knocked over and extinguished a few candles with a _zap._

"It's not all bad…"

Russet stood feet away, hands folded atop Melodic Cudgel's crescent grip, "Take comfort in the fact that not only will you be slain with your own weapon, but that you tried to escape, and _almost_ succeeded. You'll die a free man, more or less."

Roman spat to the side, grimacing.

So this was how it would end: dead, at the end of the cane he earned through a lifetime of killing, wielded by a sadistic, giggling freak after three months rotting in a prison at the ends of the world, and barely into his twenties at that.

At least he had fucking tried.

"Little Muffin, on the other hand…"

Russet bared his immaculate teeth as he dropped his voice into a sinister drone.

"She has yet to know the meaning of the word nightmare, and hers will continue, _long_ after you're gone. Consider yourself blessed; I'm going to kill you, Zero, but she will suffer, alone, and without _you_. Where is the little strumpet anyw-"

There was a fleeting pause as the very air flashed bright, followed by a flare of energy as Russet's aura was destroyed, from behind at close range; the squelch and pungent, metallic odor of fresh blood before Russet gaped skyward in agony. His left knee buckled as blood squirted from the wound before both his knees were eviscerated from behind with a single, horizontal slash, and the warden fell forward on useless legs, shrieking in shock and pain.

Above his now prone, writhing form stood Neopolitan: feet planted, blood-soaked gunblade held out to her side, both eyes stark white boring into the back of Russet's hairless skull, and her pale lips utterly and completely expressionless, smattered with crimson droplets.

Roman stared in disbelief as Russet squirmed, trying to move his legs with the backs of his knees slashed open, dying his suit an even darker shade of red. He howled in frustration and disbelief as Neo stepped over his quivering thighs, flinging the blood off of the gunblade with a swing of her tiny arm.

She stood completely still, breathing heavily, but not shaking, eyes still focused on Russet's head as he groaned in anger.

"You… how…my-my legs!" He screamed, "You little whore! I-"

He reached a gloved hand for Melodic Cudgel but Neo pinned it to the floor before it could reach its mark, driving the gunblade through his palm and eliciting another pained yelp. Eyes unmoving, she twisted the blade, slowly, and Russet's groaning rose to a shrill howl.

It had taken Roman a few seconds to realize that the tables had turned, and drastically at that, in the span of mere seconds. Even after he had deduced that his time had not yet come, and that he had narrowly avoided death yet again for the umpteenth time that day, he still had to take a few more seconds to catch his breath before he laughed, lightly at first before building to full-blown, headshaking laughter, Russet growling and moaning as Neo slowly twisted her blade back and forth, daring him to make another move as he glowered in pain, fury and humiliation.

"Your timing is impeccable, Neo."

Roman retrieved Melodic Cudgel casually, Russet's one unmutilated hand clutching his wrist. He examined the weapon is his hands for any signs of tampering, but from a casual observation it appeared to have endured Russet's clutches unchanged. It was barely even harmed by the fierce duel that had just taken place, the smooth barrel still appearing polished and unblemished.

"Did you miss me?" Roman whispered teasingly to his weapon, just loud enough for the warden's ears before turning his attention to Neo.

"Careful with his other hand, we need it for the scanner," he reminded.

Neo didn't even look up.

"A-alright, z-Torchwick, you win," Russet attempted to speak levelly through what was obviously debilitating anguish, "I can make you rich! Just take me with you, I have bank accounts that are full to the brim! Think about what you're doing!"

Roman almost considered the offer.

Almost.

He knelt down to the prone warden, staring into panicked black eyes.

"Why did the Black Circle betray me?" he asked.

"…What makes you think I asked them? I haven't communicated with them in ages."

Roman looked up at Neo and nodded.

She twisted the blade.

Screaming ensued.

"Giovane Verde had me delivered here, and gave you my cane," Roman recalled, "Why? Why did he screw me over!?"

"I don't ask questions," Russet said quickly, "It's none of my business. I never met your boss, he just said he had a high profile Black Circle operative that would sell for a lot of lien, and that I could have your cane and some Dust that I could pawn. I-I could never find a buyer for you though; no one knew your name, not Hong Zhao, not White Fang, not Feral Vigil, not even Top Dog's dear old dad thought you were worth the lien!"

Roman stared at the writhing, pained warden, beginning to grow even paler than normal from blood loss.

He didn't know anything, Marcus was waiting… and Neo had business to settle.

He grinned, pushing himself up on Melodic Cudgel. He was exhausted, sore, dry on aura, but he still felt like he held every single card on the table as he stepped past Russet on his way out the door.

"I'll make you rich!" Russet called desperately, "You're making a mistake! Torchwick! Think about this!"

"That would be a bit of a problem."

Roman spun around in the doorframe.

"You see, back when Neo and I were sharing a toilet while my legs healed, we struck some deals of our own. One of the conditions of our partnership, was that I would show her what revenge felt like."

Neo turned her head to Roman, and they locked eyes.

"Just remember: we need his hand intact. The rest of him… well, that's your business. Feel free to take your time, I'm gonna see what I can take with us downstairs, it's not like he'll be needing any of this stuff anymore…"

Roman winked, and Neo nodded coldly.

"Wait! Torchwick!" Russet groaned as Neo slowly removed the gunblade from his ruined hand, "Don't leave me in here with her! Think about the money!"

Roman was no longer listening. He glimpsed Neo circling Russet like a predator, stark eyes unchanging, gripping his wrist and lining up her blade before he shut the double doors, and left her to her vengeance.

Revenge was sweet, as they said, but it wasn't something that could be taught; only learned.

Even as a muffled scream came from within the bedroom, Roman approached the black bowler hat atop the balcony. He appraised the headwear casually, humming an improvised tune.

"I'll take this," he said to himself, placing the hat atop his untrimmed, greasy hair as he descended the staircase.

Another scream emanated from the closed doors, and though he thought it well-deserved, Roman wasn't particularly interested in listening to the many more, identical howls that were almost guaranteed to follow as he pilfered the remains of the warden's quarters. He approached the phonograph atop the desk, brass singed black from the flames but otherwise seemingly intact. After a brief inspection, he placed the needle into the grooves of the unlabeled vinyl record atop the device, and the sounds of scratching and crackling gave way to the opening strings of a song.

Roman grinned gleefully as the familiar melody hit his ears.

"I love this song!" he chuckled to himself, and as he rounded the desk he began to sing along.

" _I'm singing in the rain…_ "

He viciously ripped one of the drawers free, examining its contents briefly with a wide grin upon his lips. He filched the only item of value, a tin of expensive luxury cigars, pocketing them and throwing the drawer against the wall with a _slam_.

" _Just singing in the rain…_ "

He sauntered over to the Atlesian suit of armor, safe in its glass case until he swung Melodic Cudgel right through it, the shattering of glass and antique armor drowning out the music and the distant, already muffled scream.

" _What a glorious feeling…_ "

He smashed the other suit of armor, twirling his cane as the pieces tumbled to the floor. The various lamps and other assorted trinkets were not spared his manic assault, nor the paintings, the plants, or the anything standing that had not already been destroyed by the fire or the fight.

Roman beamed, ear-to-ear in the center of the room, surrounded by destruction as he harmonized with the music.

" _I'm happy again…_ "

With nothing left to destroy he journeyed to the bathroom, which proved to be larger than it had initially appeared. The spacious shower beckoned him, its porcelain walls practically calling out to his filthy flesh and matted hair, but time was already running short, and there would be time for a shower when he got back to Vale. He walked past the wardrobe opposite the shower, taking note of its location as he made for the sink. Before he even gazed into the ornate mirror he yanked on the tap, splashing his face with ice-cold water.

It was freezing, shocking, it sent goosebumps popping up along his skin. It was _heavenly_.

" _Fuck_ …" he gasped as he soaked his face in the frigid water, splashing it into his hairline and against his eyes. Almost immediately he opened his mouth and gulped down as much as he could, as if he could obliterate the taste of three months' worth of prison food with the icy, divine current that spilled over his chapped lips.

His thirst finally satiated, Roman looked into the mirror and beheld his own reflection for the first time in three months. He had never been a particularly swarthy man, and even after months without a razor the red fuzz that dotted his chin was barely visible. His pale skin had grown even paler, stretched taught over lean muscles, and his green eyes seemed to shine from within dark, heavy sockets. Every shred of fat had been stripped from his body, leaving him with a visible Adam's apple and a razor-sharp jawline, framed by filthy, untamed locks of fiery hair that had grown to shoulder length from beneath the immaculate bowler hat he had claimed.

He would have to do something about the grime coating his face that the water had failed to wash away, but right now the unrecognizable slacks he wore were the most pressing priority. He pushed off from the mirror and proceed to the wardrobe, throwing open the doors and scanning for anything that caught his eye; Russet had been a tall, lean man like himself, and the size difference would be likely negligible. He kicked off his filthy pants, withdrawing his zippo lighter, and grabbed the first pair of plain black dress pants he laid eyes on, pulling them over his tattooed legs. He claimed a simple belt, socks, and even a pair of unassuming dress shoes, all the while eyeing the snow-white coat hung up at the far end of the rows of suit jackets.

He hastily buttoned a black shirt before reaching for the coat, admiring its crimson trim on the inside of the collar; just a touch was enough to verify that it was expensive. First priority was hiding his various tattoos, but if he could manage to do so with pricey, snazzy clothes pilfered from the personal stores of a repulsive man that would no longer need them… why the hell wouldn't he?

The finishing touches on the outfit were a plain grey scarf, to cover the Ursa on his neck, and a pair of masterwork black leather gauntlets, which he buckled over the sleeves of the coat, obscuring the bloody Nevermore beak on his right hand. There were various dresses on one side of the closet, clearly fitted for a small girl about Neo's size, and for a brief moment he considered taking a few for her to wear but reconsidered; they were clearly meant for her, but they were not _hers._ He would point them out and let her decide if she wanted to wear them, and the memories that probably came with them, or leave them behind with everything else.

The girl in question was apparently taking her time with her vengeance; Roman didn't want to interrupt, especially when she had waited far, far longer than he to see Russet dead, but every minute they spent here was a minute Marcus had to hold the hangar door. They had been gone for nearly twenty minutes, enough time for any surviving guards to regroup and retake The Maw one key location at a time.

"…Five more minutes," Roman muttered to himself with a nod. He took a look at himself fully dressed in the mirror, winked, threw open the medicine cabinet above the sink, and immediately set upon throwing everything in sight into his new coat's sizeable pockets.

Headache medicine: useful.

Stack of several large lien bills: always useful.

Hair growth cream… he laughed aloud before tossing the product over his shoulder and continuing.

A small vial of Burn Dust: volatile, but useful.

Unmarked, white pills: probably drugs, could sell for a few hundred lien if peddled to the right people, therefore useful.

Small makeup kit…

"Oh, What have we here?" Roman mused. He seized the kit, eyed its contents, and shrugged.

"Eh, what the hell."

He closed the medicine cabinet and set upon lining his left eye with opaque, heavy black liner, humming along with the music still faintly audible from outside the bathroom. It was a hasty application, but it didn't matter, he was simply killing time until Neo had satisfied herself. Despite his nonchalance, however, he liked how he looked after he supplemented the thick liner with even thicker mascara, batting his lashes in the mirror and grinning.

"Hey Gio, you miss me?"

As he stared into his own reflection, he considered confronting his former boss with only one eye lined: the asymmetry made him look unhinged, unpredictable.

Something moved in the mirror; something that wasn't him. He whirled with a yelp, grabbing Melodic Cudgel and leveling the barrel at…

Neopolitan.

"Oh, Neo…" he chuckled, lowering his weapon as his partner lifted her brows in concern. Blood covered her dress, her hair, her face, but she stood calmly, with both hands clasped behind her back.

"Didn't see you there, how do you like the new look?"

Neo appraised him briefly. Her smile was wide as she nodded, beaming.

"Sharp, huh?" Roman popped his collar.

"I got us some money, and myself some cigars as well. Did you…"

He paused as he thought of a way to word the question.

"…How did it feel?"

Neo looked to the side, in the direction of Russet's bedroom. Her smile dropped, but returned, lips twisted and paired with darkened eyes. She tilted her head and looked back at Roman with features caught in conflict, not quite smiling, but warped with fear no longer.

 _Not sure yet._

Roman shrugged.

"Give it time," he said, "For now, we have to get back to Marcus, we're almost free… you have the hand?"

Neo nodded, withdrawing both of her own, attached hands from behind her back, her right clutching and presenting a pale, tattooed, severed palm from which dripped a few crimson droplets onto the stark floor. As Roman took the offered hand Neo seemed glad to be rid of it, wiping her own bloodstained palm on her dress and sneering briefly.

Roman recognized the tattoo on the back of Russet's severed hand, old and faded as it was: a Widowmaker Grimm, the spiderlike limbs of which continuing across the tops of the knuckles, represented the murder of one's own parentage.

"He was even a nicer guy than I thought," Roman remarked with a sarcastic chuckle, "Well, we should hurry; don't wanna keep Marcus waiting, you know how he likes to bitch."

Neo made a sound; a high-pitched, airy, sharp inhale as she put a hand to her mouth as if to laugh, smiling.

"You know I'm right!" he spread his gloved hands, and the girl smiled even wider as her small shoulders shook silently.

Even covered head to toe in blood as Neo was, the sight was the cutest thing Roman Torchwick had seen in months, and he found himself grinning like an idiot as well as the duo left the bathroom and set off for the home stretch of their escape. Neo walked with confidence ahead of him, swinging her bloodied gunblade side to side and splattering the walls with red. Never had he seen her so seemingly relaxed.

They were just about to return to the halls of The Maw when Roman heard it: a faint, muffled, drawn out groan from far behind him. His spine tingled as he glanced at the balcony, stopping in his tracks behind Neo.

"Did you hear that?" he muttered.

Neo stopped in the doorframe and turned halfway, side-eyeing Roman, seemingly unconcerned.

"There was a…"

He trailed off as he heard it again, the strained groaning, and now he was sure that it wasn't just his imagination.

"…Russet… you didn't finish him, did you…"

It wasn't a question; Roman already knew the answer, even before Neo shot him a knowing, sinister smirk. She coolly glanced at her bloodstained blade, shrugged, and left the room, still smiling.

Roman shook his head, whistling as the realization hit him; not that Russet hadn't deserved it, as he held no personal sympathy for the warden whatsoever, but even judged by the standards of Vale's criminal underworld… that was cold. He hadn't thought her capable of such sadism, but then again, he hadn't endured what she had.  
Not exactly.

"Neo," he said, "I'm glad we're friends."

* * *

When the duo arrived at the hangar hall there were no guards waiting for them.

None that were alive.

Easily over 20 corpses covered the hall leading up to the sandbag bulwarks, now shredded to pieces by bullets, and against the hangar door Marcus sat leaning.

"About time!" he called down the hall, voice strained; he sounded like he was in pain.

They hurried, as fast as they could while sidestepping the bodies.

"There were more than I thought there'd be," Roman said, mostly to himself.

"Took your sweet time… getting some new threads, huh?" Marcus nodded at Roman's dramatically altered appearance as he and Neo approached.

"Russet wasn't easy to kill," Roman shrugged.

"So he's dead then?"

"…More or less."

Neo hopped the remains of a sandbag and stopped in her tracks. She pointed at Marcus' leg and Roman's eyes widened. The assassin's left leg, pivotal to his fighting style, was torn open above the knee, caked with dried blood and bandaged with cloth torn from his own shirtsleeve. No wonder a salvaged assault rifle was propped against the door within grabbing distance.

"Well, that doesn't look good," Roman commented as Neo crouched to look at the wound, but Marcus shooed her away.

"Bastards got my leg," he growled, "Tore through my aura, hurts like a bitch, but I can walk… with help. I might be able to make a splint once we get to that bullhead."

He was clearly uncomfortable asking.

Roman bit his lip, and offered Melodic Cudgel's handle for his ally.

"It would make more sense if you walked with this," he said, "Just… don't scratch the paint, Black."

Marcus nodded, taking the masterwork cane with a single hand.

"Thanks, I owe you one."

"We can work out our debts later," Roman dismissed. As Neo helped Marcus to his feet, Roman stepped for the scanner and placed the severed hand upon it. There was a pause as the machine ran a match.

"Honestly… I wasn't expecting you two to make it back," Marcus said, balancing his weight between Melodic Cudgel and his right leg, "When they got my leg I thought I was a goner."

"Thanks, I believed in you, too."

Despite the sarcasm, Roman grinned with solely humor.

The scanner chimed, and he tossed the hand against the wall with a _splat_ as the massive doors hissed. The anticipation was almost foot-tap inducing as the door slowly retracted into the walls and revealed a spacious chamber, occupied by little more than two bullhead aircraft illuminated by harsh overhead lighting. As the trio of escapees stepped into the hangar proper, Roman took note of the large blast doors that sealed the hangar away from the elements, as well as the booth at the far end that likely controlled them.

"Outdated models, but they're in good condition."

Marcus observed the vehicles as they slowly approached, the assassin setting the group's pace with his limp: a far cry from the nimble technique he had displayed earlier.

"Will they get us to Vale?" Roman asked.

"Depends on how much Dust they've got in them, let's take the one that's better off, and go."

"We could always head to Atlas," Roman suggested, "I'd rather head home, but it's closer, and I've never been. We could find some public transp-"

"Not a chance, Atlesian airspace would have us tagged and arrested as soon as we touched down, and that's if they don't shoot us out of the sky; Vale is our only option."

Suddenly Neo halted, and with her, the rest of the group as a figure emerged from behind the closer bullhead, hands raised in surrender. He was of short stature, his face was obscured behind a pair of opaque goggles and a surgical mask, and engine grease coated the apron he wore.

"You!" Roman stabbed a finger at the man who had tagged him with a number the day he had arrived, suddenly aware of his lack of a weapon.

Neo pointed her gunblade and the man raised his hands even higher, silent.

"You there," Marcus similarly called out the man, "Will this thing fly?"

He indicated the bullhead, and the man nodded.

"To Vale?"

The man nodded again, vigorously.

"Good. Neo, kill him."

The recoil nearly ousted the weapon from her hands, but the bullet struck true, hitting the pleading man just above the heart. He thrashed silently on the floor, soon going still as blood briefly fountained from the wound. Roman had no comment; he was in no mood for mercy either.

Marcus was already at the lip of the bullhead, hoisting himself onto the craft using his entire body as Roman appraised Neo's kill.

"That was your first shot, wasn't it?" he concluded, "Not bad, but next time lean into the shot, not away, and spread your feet; it won't knock you back so much."

Neo nodded, but glanced at the gunblade with visible distaste.

 _I don't think guns are my thing_.

"This thing is almost full on Dust, and should get us to Vale," Marcus called from the bullhead, head appearing soon after, "Torchwick, see if you can get the hangar doors open; I'll get the engines started but you'll have to fly this thing."

"Wait, what!?"

Roman narrowed his eyes, "I don't know how to _fly_ a bullhead!"

"It's easy!" Marcus insisted, "I'll walk you through it, but first you have to get these blast doors open, try the booth. Neo, watch the entrance, make sure we don't get jumped."

The girl nodded and fixed her attention on the hangar entrance: to the group's knowledge, the only way direction from which they could be attacked. She hopped onto the lip of the bullhead, not letting the entrance out of her sight.

Roman hesitated; he wasn't completely on board with the idea of piloting an airborne Vertical Takeoff and Landing Craft across half a planet for the first time ever while he felt like he could take a year-long nap if given the chance, but he had to admit that who would pilot the craft once the pivotal moment arrived hadn't crossed his mind. Still, if it was only learning to fly that separated him from freedom, then learn he would.

After he opened the doors.

He walked briskly in the direction of the booth at the far end of the hangar, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that he was unarmed save the small vial of Burn Dust in his pocket. Behind him the bullhead's engines roared to life, filling the hangar with a loud, constant drone.

They were leaving.

In about five minutes, he would be free of this nightmare, along with the assassin who had made it possible, and the girl that had become quite possibly his most trusted friend in all of Remnant. The thought, the very concept, carried so many varied, associated implications with it that it was almost too overwhelming to process.

He would have to find a place to live, a way to make money, and even if those weren't issues, returning to Vale, or any of Remnant's kingdoms, would put him right in the sights of the very criminal organization that had betrayed him; an organization that just so happened to train assassins skilled in the art of stalking and killing targets from the shadows. He would likely have to contend with said organization in order to find Giovane, the man that had stabbed him in the back and would never be forgiven, and in addition to all this, there was Neo.  
Would it be right to drag her into all this? Would he be able to keep her safe? He didn't want the responsibility, it would slow him down, but in addition to being handy in a fight, she was important to him, at least enough that he couldn't just dump her somewhere and leave her to contend with the world by her lonesome. She could fight, but how long had she been in here? Could she even read? What if she was just snatched up again by someone even crueler than Russet?  
Roman stopped that train of thought before it went any further; one foot in front of the other. Get to Vale, take it from there.

He stepped in front of the controls in the booth, and found himself completely paralyzed. Maybe he had been expecting a lever, or several, but certainly not the array of unlabeled buttons that he was now faced with. He scratched the side of his head, under his new hat.

"Okay…" he muttered, "What does… _this_ button do?"

He prodded the largest, reddest button in the arrangement, and an alarm could be heard even above the engines of the bullhead. At first he rolled his eyes; with his luck, he had probably hit the fire alarm, and a fog of pressurized nitrogen was about to flood the entire hangar from twenty different ports in less than two seconds.

But, two seconds later, the hangar grew steadily brighter. Roman shielded his eyes, unused to the amount of illumination as the blast doors sluggishly spread apart from one another. Squinting through the harsh sunrays, he could see the gray sky, and the ice-capped mountain peaks in the distance that seemed to stretch on for eternity, mountain after mountain, until even the tallest peaks faded into the distance.

So, maybe his luck was finally turning around after all.

There was no longer any point in sticking around; as the massive blast doors revealed more and more of the world he thought he'd never see again, Roman Torchwick summoned forth what little energy he had left and jogged towards the bullhead, dress shoes clicking on the floor.

He sidestepped one roaring engine and hefted himself onto the hovering craft, next to Neo as she stared, captivated, into the horizon.

"Would you look at that?"

Roman tapped her shoulder playfully, and she spun around, beaming with two round, brown eyes that seemed to glitter.

"Roman," Marcus beckoned from the cockpit, "Get in the pilot seat and take us out of here."

Even the assassin had the ghost of a genuine grin on his stony face.

Roman nodded and turned back to Neo, "Strap in, kiddo."

He jerked a thumb at the belt-equipped benches lining the interior of the bullhead's fuselage, and with a quick ruffle of Neo's hair as she scurried for a spot, he edged past Marcus and into the pilot's seat, the assassin already seated in the co-pilot's chair.

The controls were streamlined enough, with a single joystick in the center of Roman's legs equipped with a trigger, and two pedals at his feet. Various switches, gauges, and indicators comprised the remainder of the tools at his disposal.

"Don't worry about any of that," Marcus waved a hand over the switches above the windshield, "I've got that, all you need to worry about is that stick and those pedals. The stick controls the pitch, the right pedal turns right and the left turns left. Got that so far?"

"Hold up," Roman said before he could continue, "…What's pitch?"

"Oh for f-Look, you just work the pedals, I'll tell you which way to go. I'll steer the thing for now and you can take over once you get what I'm doing, sound good?"

"What!? Why does it need to be that complicated? Just explain to me how I get this thing off the ground and I'll do it!"

"I was getting to that, throttle's to your left."

A single, horizontal handle was set into the left control panel.

"Okay…" Roman dragged the word out as he rested his left hand on it, looking to Marcus for confirmation. The assassin surveyed the controls and stroked his beard, flipping a few choice switches, and the bullhead creaked and rocked before settling into a hover while its engines roared with greater intensity. There were the sounds of metal contraptions shifting, adjusting, in the walls of the craft.

"Landing gear's retracted," he breathed, "Ease this baby forward; don't adjust the pitch until we're clear of the hangar."

Roman breathed.

In.

Out.

He adjusted the throttle gradually and the bullhead began to glide forward, towards freedom. The horizon widened and the lip of the hangar disappeared under the windshield. He kept the vehicle on an even path with subtle taps of the pedals at his feet, and Marcus nodded his approval.

"See? Easy."

"It's not too bad…"

Despite himself Roman grinned as he guided the bullhead safely out of the hangar. Flying a VTOL had never been an item on his things-to-do-before-he-died list, but he supposed that now he would have to find room for it, in between making a lot of money and enjoying Giovane Verde's dying screams.

"Neo! How's my piloting!?"

There was a delay before Neo jabbed a small, raised thumb into the cockpit.

"I don't want to take my eyes off the sky," Roman said, "I'll take that as a _'you're doing fine, Roman?'_ "

"Snowcone's giving you a thumbs' up," Marcus clarified, "…What did you expect?"

The bullhead left the confines of the hangar, and only a brief instant in time separated the trio from their suffering in the confines of imprisonment, and their first moments of freedom in the skies. On all sides the bullhead was surrounded by nothing but air, chilled winds and misty, wispy clouds as it carried them further away from their living death sentence with every passing second.

"Gently tilt the stick to the right," Marcus instructed, "We want to go south, to Vale."

He tapped a compass display, drawing Roman's attention for a split second as he guided the bullhead into a gentle bank. His stomach shifted as the entire vehicle turned, and he tried to keep his hands from shaking as he manipulated the unwieldy controls. A gust of wind buffeted the craft, and the very cockpit seemed to rattle.

Marcus quickly flipped another switch, and the doors on the side of the fuselage promptly slid shut. Neo's hands still gripped both pilot's seats, ensuring Roman of her safety.

Through the windshield the vague outline of a blackened, rocky mountain could be perceived through the mist and snow: The Maw itself. From the outside, it looked as any other craggy mountain would, with no features that would betray the suffering of the hundreds of men within. No monuments to the agony, the solitude, the rage; the slow decay of the self that had threatened to consume Roman over the last few months, and Neo for a formless eternity, the exact length of which he wasn't sure he would ever truly know.

…Good fucking riddance.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, "Now just keep it on course."

"For… how long, exactly?"

"…Probably… about 12 to 16 hours, depending on if we-"

"Oh, fantastic!"

"We can take shifts," Marcus placated, "Just let me put this leg in a damn splint, if I can make one. There's a medical kit in the back, shouldn't take too long."

"Uh-huh," Roman nodded, leveling out the bullhead with a steady adjustment of the joystick.

Marcus whistled, "There's no making you happy, huh? An hour ago we were rotting in cells."

"It's an improvement," Roman muttered, "But if I'm gonna be flying a metal death trap halfway across the world with no bathroom breaks, I think I'll go for some tobacco."

He withdrew the cigar case he had lifted from Russet's desk as Marcus nodded, in equal parts approval and resignation.

"Smoke if you want; Personally? I can't wait to pour myself a stiff drink."

"Believe me, that's on the list," Roman chewed, a cigar between his teeth as he reached for his lighter. Neo's head darted between the two men as she visibly wondered what a stiff drink was.

A screech echoed from afar; a deathly, piercing cry that seemed to worm its way into the bullhead's hull and reverberate through the very metal that surrounded them. Roman's skin prickled as a chill wracked his spine, his blood turning to ice within his veins as the cigar tumbled from his frozen grip. Neo jumped, eyes glazing white as Marcus whipped his head from side to side with tense muscles as he shot forward in his chair, instantly alert.

Roman glanced briefly at his small partner behind him, uncomfortable at the sight of her wide, stark eyes as they darted fretfully in their sockets.

"Grimm…" murmured Marcus.

Roman turned his attention back to the misty skies ahead of him.

"…Are you sure?"

Three months ago, the Old Man had spoken words to Roman that, at the time, had seemed like spiteful, dismissive mockery, but now jumped to the forefront of his racing mind.

 _You ever seen a Beowulf up close?_

He was born and raised a city kid; he had never seen a Grimm.

Not up close, not from afar, not until two black wings cut through the clouds like twin, serrated blades, buffeting the mists aside with a single, mighty flap. The body they were attached to was blacker than a moonless night, save for the bone-white skull lined with glowing red crevasses that pulsed like molten rivers. Four searing, crimson eyes were set on the bullhead, approaching from straight ahead as the Nevermore's sharp, black beak split in another blood-freezing shriek.

* * *

 **Wow! Barely two weeks for another update!**  
 **I'm going to keep this one concise; I'm super excited to continue this story, and get our characters out of The Maw. I've got a lot of exciting plans ahead, including Neo's perspective(!)**  
 **I, Henta1Rampag3, love all of you; Stay tuned!**

 **Dear l3largus: dude, I will take an offered muffin any day, regardless of the term's role in the story. My favorite flavor is pistachio, after all.**


	7. Flight

Roman wasn't sure what the most horrifying thing he had ever seen was.

He had never really thought about it, as he had seen a lot of horrifying things; most were better left to the depths of nightmares, or the bottom of a glass.

Perhaps it had been his uncle's face, the first time the man had stepped back and gazed upon Roman in a dress, pigtails, and makeup that looked more fit for a clown.

Maybe it had been the nearly unrecognizable man strapped in the chair in the warehouse, the night the Black Circle had discovered he was a traitor, screaming and bleeding as Roman pretended to watch the interrogators make an example out of him while he had stared at the wall and tried to keep his dinner inside his churning stomach.

It could have even been the first black sap overdose he had ever been present for; the operative slumped back on the toilet, face lined with black veins as she stared with murky grey eyes at the tiled wall, lifeless even as her clammy fingers twitched with the final spasms of consciousness.

Or it could have been the Nevermore, the first Grimm he had ever born witness to, shrieking a razor cry and diving for the bullhead as its fell wings blocked out the very sun, its beak on course to impale their vehicle directly through the windshield that had never seemed so fragile until now.

"Forward!"

Roman was vaguely aware of Marcus shouting to his right, barely audible through the drone of the bullhead's engines and the piercing of the Nevermore's cries.

"On the throttle! _Forward!_ "

Marcus' hand grabbed the joystick and slammed the pitch forward, and Roman came to his senses just as the bullhead was pushed into a steep nosedive. He was thrown back against the pilot's chair as he shoved the throttle, and the craft roared as it rocketed down into the mists. Neo gripped the back of Roman's headrest with a white-knuckled death grip; in his ear he could faintly perceive acute, short breaths of adrenaline as she held on, avoiding slamming into the back of the fuselage by fingertips.

The Nevermore soared right over the diving bullhead; the force of the massive creature carving through the sky shook the craft, and its dismayed screech was not far behind.

"Pull back on the throttle, then the pitch!" Marcus roared, "Level us out before we hit the ocean!"

"The ocean!?"

"Pull! Back! _Now!_ "

Roman drew back the throttle with less grace than intended, but gravity took over, and the bullhead fell through the clouds until he jerked back the pitch. All occupants were thrown into the air before slamming back down as the craft paralleled with ocean below. Crystal waves were now visible far beneath them; the sight would have been beautifully serene had there not been a shrieking Nevermore on their tail, angry at its prey escaping. Their abrupt dive had gained them several hundred feet on the beast as it reoriented itself, but soon it had turned and given chase, and it was closing the distance at a frightening pace.

Roman didn't wait for Marcus to order him this time; he jammed the throttle forward and the bullhead rocketed through the light mists that hung in their path. As far ahead as he could see, only open ocean stretched on into the mists several hundred feet ahead, and even at top speed it was already apparent that outrunning the Nevermore was impossible. Roman kept frantic eyes flicking between the open sky ahead of him and the bullhead's side mirrors, which afforded a poor view of the aforementioned beast flapping its mighty wings and approaching with every beat.

They had a minute, at most.

Roman's hands shook on the controls; he had sidestepped death one too many times today, and now it was here to call him on his debt, in the form of a red-eyed, screaming, giant bird from Hell. There was no way out.

"Stay calm!" Marcus screamed, looking back at Neo, "Both of you! The more you panic the tastier you look to that thing!"

"What do we do!?" Roman panicked, "How do we kill it!?

"We don't! There isn't an ace pilot alive who can dogfight a Nevermore that size in a bullhead!"

Roman blinked twice at Marcus, speechless.

"We have to shake it!" The assassin continued.

"… _How!?_ "

Marcus growled, brow furrowed as he tried to focus. Neo pushed her way into the cockpit and stabbed an arm forward and towards the horizon; through the misty clouds, the outline of several jagged crags jutted forth from the waves. As they approached, the outlines grew clearer; a group of rocky glaciers, dotted with what looked like man-made stone ruins, still a considerable distance away.

"Snowcone you're a genius! We'll lose the Nevermore in those mountains!"

Roman was trying to find words that would properly express his thoughts.

Really, he was.

"…I am _not_ flying in there!"

"Yes you are," Marcus corrected, "You're going to fly right through there! The Nevermore can't fit!"

The assassin indicated what looked like the remains of a stone bridge, its proximity to the glacier opposite the one it protruded from creating an extremely narrow opening, possibly too narrow for even a bullhead.  
"Neither can we!" Roman protested; if death had been completely inevitable he would have been ashamed of the desperation in his voice, sarcastic defiance until the bitter end the only way he would have been able to rest in peace once the darkness claimed him.

But this was just reckless, straight-up suicide for so many different reasons. It was one thing to face an unavoidable demise with stoic cynicism; it was another to flippantly throw your own life away.

"You can do it!" Marcus assured, attempting to raise himself out of his chair and grimacing in pain.

"I have five minutes of bullhead piloting experience! I'll kill us!"

"Please don't," Marcus grunted as he shuffled past Neo, "I have a boy who would miss me, and I'm too sober to die right now."

He disappeared from the cockpit and Neo hopped forward into the now unoccupied copilot's chair, eyes stark white and small chest heaving with visible terror.

"Where the hell are you going!?" Roman screamed.

"Buying us some time!"

Marcus leaned against the fuselage wall, slamming a button with the back of his fist. The wind howled and the sound of the engines grew to a furious roar as the side of the bullhead opened, and Marcus leaned out, one hand gripped on the door and the other on Melodic Cudgel.

The cane whistled, and in the mirrors Roman saw the Nevermore shrug off an explosive round as if it were no more than a spitball.

"Don't drop that!" Roman was suddenly conscious of the ocean below, and Marcus' one-handed grip on the cane he had only recently reclaimed.

"Focus on flying!" Marcus replied, firing another round. It struck the Nevermore's head, but though the beast shrieked, blinded, it did not slow.

Roman desperately tried to keep his attention on his task: saving everyone's lives. He stilled his hands, focused on the stone bridge, and kept the bullhead on course. The Nevermore was gaining, but the throttle could not be pushed any further, and they would not reach the ruins ahead in time.

He almost jumped when Neo gripped his shoulder with white knuckles, and she looked to him, tears in her wide eyes. Even through his coat he could feel her grip shaking.

 _Are we going to die?_

Roman couldn't look. Melodic Cudgel's frequent whistles and the Nevermore's enraged screeches cut through the roar of the engines as Marcus fired away in vain.

Neo tugged on his coat again.

 _We didn't escape just to die here! We won't, right? We won't!_

A single glance at the mirrors told Roman the truth: the truth that he couldn't even face himself, let alone tell the child desperately clinging to his coat.

How could he? At least he'd had the chance to live; he hadn't formed many friendships, fallen in love, had any children, but at least he had woken up with a hangover after taking someone to bed at least once in his life. Neo didn't even have that; all she had were memories of solitude, pain, suffering, and for endless years.

 _"She has nothing to believe in but you…"_ the last words the old man had ever spoken to him, _"…No family but you, and if she has any chance for a normal life, after what this shithole has taken from her, it's with you."_

Roman ground his teeth. The ruins were close now, about two thousand feet, but the Nevermore was closer. Marcus withdrew Melodic Cudgel and retreated into the bullhead.

"You cane is dry!" he yelled over the howl of the wind and the screaming of the bullhead's strained engines, "We have seconds! P-"

Whatever he said next was drowned out by the shriek of the Nevermore, and its cry practically shook the craft that would soon serve as their tomb. One last look in the mirror showed the giant fowl practically breathing down their necks.

 _I'm sorry,_ Roman thought, _Grandpa, Neo, I let you down…_

She deserved to hear it; for all she had done for him, it was all that he could give her now.

"Neo…"

Roman's voice shook as he turned to her…

Only to find the copilot's seat empty.

"…What?"

He whipped his head around to see Neo hanging out the door of the bullhead like Marcus had done, the assassin staring at her with the most unhidden expression of shock that Roman had witnessed cross his face in the time he had known him. He couldn't see her face, but he could imagine Neo's scowl as she thrust out her tiny hand, clutching the uncorked vial of Burn Dust that, last he had known, had been in his pocket. He patted at his coat just to make sure.

"How the-"

Oh, right. He had personally taught her how to pick pockets like a slick-fingered professional.

The Nevermore was mere feet from the bullhead, and with a fell shriek, it thrust out its talons for the craft. The razor claws sunk into the ship like fangs into flesh...

And in the mirrors Roman watched as the illusion shattered into millions of flaming, glass-like shards, engulfing the Nevermore in fire. Loose pieces, bright orange and already melting landed inside the bullhead. Neo yelped as one cut through her bare calf, steam rising from the wound as she fell to the floor, eyes closed. Her limp body tumbled and rolled, on course for the open doors, and Roman found himself choked as his heart leapt into his throat.

" _Neo!_ "

He reached a gloved hand out for her, knowing it would not stop her fall, as one tiny hand disappeared over the ledge before Marcus surged forward, grabbing her arm and hauling her back onto the bullhead with an agonized grimace.

"She's fine!" the assassin called, standing and slamming the side door shut, "She bought us time, use it!"

Roman _forced_ his eyes forward; the ruins were so close now. A glance in the mirrors and he saw the Nevermore shrieking and writhing as flames licked its black body. Neo's Dust-enhanced illusion had put some distance between the bullhead and the beast, but it wasn't long before the enraged Grimm ignored its flaming feathers altogether, flapping its wings once more and giving chase with renewed fury.

The gap between the bridge and the glacier led to what looked like the remains of an ancient fortress, or perhaps even a city built into the surrounding crags. There was no way a Nevermore would be able to maneuver in there, but being the novice pilot he was, Roman doubted he would fare much better. How intelligent was the Nevermore? Would it even fall for this simple trick? Or would it rise and circle the glacier until they emerged? In that case, it would be simply a matter of time.

Run out of fuel and starve to death, or die running: given the choices…

"Dammit… Strap in!" Roman yelled to his passengers, "…And don't forget to pray!"

There was no response as Marcus secured himself into one of the many seats in the fuselage, the apparently unconscious Neo's head lolling in his thick arms.

The Nevermore let out a cry; drawn out, shrill, and pissed-the-hell-off.

"Yeah, yeah…" muttered Roman.

They approached the bridge. The gap was too small. The Nevermore wouldn't fit, but neither would the bullhead. He could dive under one of the bridge's struts, but the ruins on the other side made for too tight a space to maneuver, not at their current speed, and if they slowed down they would be lunch.

Roman took one last glance in the mirror at the pursuing Grimm, charred feathers trailing smoke as it rapidly closed in, and decided that of all the ways he could exit this world, he would not be doing it as Grimm food.

They were seconds away from the bridge, and the Nevermore was moments away from the bullhead.

"Quoth _this_ , Nevermore," he growled.

He ripped back the pitch, sending the bullhead up and into the sky as he killed the throttle. The craft hung for a moment, suspended by inertia alone as it spun, and swiveled as Roman's hat fell off his mane of flying hair to the riveted canopy. He felt what little breakfast he had stomached rise into his throat as Marcus cursed from behind him.

There was a dismayed screech as the Nevermore buffeted its wings and halted its flight path, and Roman glimpsed its dark, seared feathers before he closed his eyes, let gravity takeover, and threw every chip he had into the pot.

The bullhead shook and crunched; rivets pinged as the fuselage fell directly onto the Nevermore's wing with the sound of twisting metal. A pained shriek stung his uncovered ears as Roman once again gunned the throttle, and the engines burst to life and seared the already blistered feathers of the anguished creature beneath. The damaged fuselage groaned and protested as Roman used the Nevermore's back like a runway, rocketing away as one massive wing began to flap furiously.

In the mirror the other wing hung down, torched, broken, and useless. The beast's back was a smoldering conflagration from which ascended plumes of black smoke as its head whipped side to side in rage. The desperate flapping of its one good wing annihilated the ancient supports of the stone bridge, and the entire structure crumbled, raining hundreds of stone blocks down upon the already doomed and plummeting creature. Its cries subsided to choked yelps as it spiraled down to the waves below, the stones of the ancient bridge accompanying it on its descent. It slammed against the glacier's rocky side, once, twice before it hit the waves, screeching no longer, and the fell fowl was nothing more.

His breath came in ragged bursts as he calmed his thundering heart; it had worked.

He was still alive.

The bullhead was still able to fly.

…He never, _ever_ , wanted to do anything like that, _ever_ again.

The calm that ensued felt unreal; yet again he had pried death's cold fingers loose, and everything around him remained as indifferent as it had always been, wholly unchanged. The waves far below crashed in rhythm, wispy clouds drifted around the bullhead's battered fuselage, and somewhere else in the treacherous world of Remnant, Giovane Verde was helping himself to world-class Mistralian wine, believing Roman to be forever rotting in a Maw that was still operating as it always had.

He waited a minute, letting his breathing return to a steady pace. He donned his hat once more, which had fallen from the canopy when he had righted the bullhead, and exhaled heavily; his day was far from over, he still had to get home.

"…Black?" he called over one shoulder, "You alright?"

The response was delayed.

"…Torchwick, you are the craziest motherfucker I have ever met… and I've met a lot of crazy motherfuckers."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Is Neo okay?"

"Yeah, thanks to me," Marcus hauled himself into the cockpit, easing into the copilot's chair once more, a medical kit in his hand.

"If I hadn't been holding onto her when you _dropped_ an occupied bullhead onto a _Nevermore,_ she would be dead. As it is, she's unconscious; that illusion must have taken all the aura she had left."

Mentally, Roman breathed a sigh of relief; he had no intentions of letting Marcus see him do it physically, however.

"What about her leg? I saw her take a hit."

"First off, never do that again," Marcus grunted, "For your sake, not mine… I bandaged Neo up, she'll be fine."

He opened the medical kit in his hands as he spoke, adjusting his seat to allow his injured leg to rest on the dashboard, "It's a nasty wound but not too deep; the heat cauterized it, and once her aura recovers she'll heal up in a couple weeks. Not going to feel too great though… when we get to Vale, it would be a great time for her first shot of whiskey…"

The assassin grunted as he wound a tight bandage around his wounded limb, "Seriously though, we're lucky this bird is still flying after that stunt you pulled; the floor is barely walkable, there are cracks in the fuselage, and I don't even want to _think_ about the condition the wings are in."

"Hey, we're alive," Roman shrugged, "And still flying."

" _For now_ …" Marcus continued to dress his wound, assembling the beginnings of a splint around his knee, "Just keep us on an even keel and we'll be fine; fly low."

Roman nodded, dipping the bullhead gently and descending closer to the waves. It was only seconds before Marcus held up a hand, and they leveled out a solid two hundred feet above the crashing currents.

"Winged Grimm don't usually fly this low, not above open sea, and the tentacled ones won't grab us this high up, unless they're massive and hungry."

"Massive, hungry, tentacled Grimm… that's comforting…" Roman sighed.

"Just think happy thoughts."

Marcus leaned back, leg bandaged and eyes closed. For the next few moments the only sound was the drone of the bullhead's engines. Nothing but ocean stretched on for as far as Roman could see, dotted by only the occasional large, icy rock. He checked the compass multiple times to make sure they were headed south, and every time he reminded himself that as long as he kept his feet off the pedals, the compass would not change.

Marcus broke the silence.

"You're a poetry fan, huh?"

"…Excuse me?"

" _Quoth this_? Seriously?"

"Oh! You heard that? …Well, not really, just that one poem."

Marcus snorted, "Typical."

"Hey," Roman snapped, "I was already made fun of once today for not reading enough, and that was in _addition_ to nearly getting eaten by an oversized, screaming raven from Hell. I didn't get to go to school, and I didn't get many chances to read in the Black Circle; they're not big on… academia."

Marcus laughed aloud.

"They used to be; creator of the Circle was a fucking _writer_ , even I know that. Dravus Malachite: he wrote _Thief and the Butcher_. It's a classic, read it next time you're getting inked."

Roman pretended the knowledge interested him as he reached for a cigar. This time he placed the cigar between his teeth, retrieved his lighter, and lit it without being interrupted by any deathly wails.

"Those things will kill you, kid," Marcus muttered, wafting away the smoke that soon filled the cockpit.

"So will alcohol," Roman smirked.

"Fair enough," Marcus shrugged, "But what's more important for a close combat fighter? His liver, or his lungs?"

"His sobriety?"

Marcus turned away, sighing as Roman continued to grin.

"I've been sober for too damn long," Marcus turned back, "You want some _real_ advice from me, you Black Circle hotshot?"

Roman cocked an eyebrow. Marcus glanced behind them, back into the fuselage before continuing, his voice low but not quite a murmur.

"Don't let that girl talk you into being some kind of daddy now that you busted her out; I know she looks just precious, but you're better off staying single, making money, moving to Menagerie and living like a king. Give her some cash, drop her at an orphanage, or a mental hospital, and go live your life for yourself."

"… _Talk_ me into it?"

Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Figure of speech."

Roman took a long drag off his cigar; the taste was sweet, like crushed raspberries with a hint of red sap, as he breathed it out, slowly.

"So, the man who busted out of prison to return home to his son, is telling me to dump the mute orphan in the back on a street corner and move to Menagerie?"

Marcus smirked.

"Those faunus girls… they'll do what you wa-"

"I wouldn't sleep with a faunus if you paid me!" Roman snapped, "And I can't just… _abandon_ Neo!"

"Have you even thought about what you're going to do with her once we get to Vale?"

"Yes! No! Kind of-ugh, look…" Roman dragged hastily off his cigar as he gestured aggressively, filling the cockpit with a pungent haze, "I'm not dad material, but I can't just leave her; I need to at least help her adjust to the world first, give her some money, get her some new clothes, maybe a speech therapist. I have stuff I need to do, but I'm not heartless."

"I saw you kill _dozens_ of people in the cafeteria, and some were begging for their lives," Marcus huffed, "Not to mention you're an assassin, just like me, who killed a man by gouging out his eye and then slamming his head into a table."

"Like I said," Roman smiled condescendingly, "Not dad material."

"And just a little heartless," Marcus added, "I'm serious: leave the girl. Look at where she was compared to where she is: You've done enough for her. I love my boy, sure, but did I _want_ the brat? Two different things, Torchwick; live for yourself."

Roman fixed Marcus with a cold side eye, and with each second that crawled by the assassin looked more and more like his father. The father that had abandoned his mother.

Abandoned him.

To his uncle.

"She saved us," he said in a monotone.

"And you saved her," Marcus said, "But that doesn't mean you owe her anything."

"Do you have any idea what she's been through?"

"I did my research on Russet; I think I have a pretty good idea, but do you want to deal with the effects of that shit? Taking care of a normal kid is difficult, but do you think there's anything _normal_ left in that girl?"

"Can we not talk about this!?"

He violently stubbed his cigar against the dashboard, where it left an ashen black smear.

" _I_ will decide what to do with her. She's not _your_ problem. End of discussion."

"Alright!" Marcus held up his hands, "At the end of the day, yeah, she is. Was just trying to give you some advice. Don't get so touchy, you don't want the Grimm to smell your anger."

Roman sighed. Irritated as he was, he still had to admit Marcus was right… about that. Encountering another Grimm was literally the lowest thing on his to-do list at the moment, just above dying.

"I… probably couldn't have made it out of there without you, Black," Roman managed, breathing steadily, "So… thanks. You pulled through."

Marcus nodded, "I don't think the three of us should be here right now, but we are. Probably couldn't have done it without you either, Torchwick, and you and I would have had a tough time without Snowcone."

Roman suddenly remembered the feeling of Russet's armored toe against his spine.

"We wouldn't be here without her," he laughed, somewhat uncomfortably, "I'll thank her properly when we get back home; might buy her some ice cream."

Marcus shrugged, "I still think a shot of whiskey would be more appropriate, but it's your call."

Roman shook his head, smirking as Marcus rose to stand in the cockpit doorway.

"I think I'm gonna catch a rest. Listen, when our Dust hits the halfway mark…"

He indicated a nearly-full gauge marked by a glowing crystal design.

"Yell for me. I'll take over, and you can rest your head until we arrive."

"This is going to be the most fun-filled, exciting few hours of my entire life."

"Yeah, even better than all those times you probably stared at the walls of your cell imagining this very moment; you'll be fine," Marcus dismissed, "Just try to remember what a shower feels like, it'll make the whole process more exciting."

With that parting advice, Marcus limped carefully into the fuselage, where Roman glimpsed him laying across the bench opposite the unconscious Neo. He wanted to go check on her, even just for a moment, but he had to keep them on course. All that was left to do was keep the already-damaged vehicle heading in the same direction, stable, and then…

That was just it: the source of the new anxiety that gripped him. Once they arrived in Vale, he had no idea what he was going to do next.

Revenge on Giovane was a long term goal, and though it served as a driving force to press on through the pain and exhaustion that now challenged him, there were many steps between the present and the moment of vengeance that needed addressing, and he had no tangible ideas as for how to go about any of them. While in The Maw, despite his rage, refusal to accept his situation, and the events leading up to his freedom, which he was still having trouble realizing he had actually survived, freedom and revenge both had in reality seemed like the desperate dreams of a man already broken.

But now the freedom he had dreamed of was his new reality, and a new plan had to be put in order. He needed a place to stay, a base of operations, as the standard procedure for the death of a Black Circle operative was the destruction of their home and everything they owned: no evidence for the cops or Huntsmen to find. Even if his penthouse was still intact, he didn't exactly trust the Black Circle anymore, not after they had betrayed him in cold blood and left him to rot in a cesspit at the frigid ends of the world.

"Whoa!"

Roman swerved the bullhead around a large rock that jutted forth from the sea, quickly correcting his course. After making sure no more boulders planned on taking him by surprise, he returned to his deliberations.

All his friends, or more aptly, everyone involved in his life that had a first name to him, were Black Circle… but there was one person who wasn't; not _technically_.

But that was far enough for that topic, as he would have to deal with it when he arrived, and not before. The other question on his mind had to be dealt with before he found a new residence: What would he do with Neopolitan?

He snorted at the memory of when he had first titled the girl so; it had been a _joke._ She had strange eyes, no name, and at the time he really could have gone for a triple-stacked cone of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream. With a cherry on top, for kicks.

Fast forward three months and that girl was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a while, or ever. They had trained together. They had shared a toilet. He had told her his life story. They had _trusted_ one another.

Marcus' words earlier however, despite being delivered with the assassin's trademark snark, held points that Roman hadn't given any real consideration. Neo was a child, about 12-14 years of age notwithstanding her tiny stature, but she was a child that had suffered countless evils, isolated from the world for a time Roman didn't know the length of, because the girl was mentally and physically damaged so severely that she had lost her speech with which to tell him.

She needed therapy, medicine, a proper bed, and even then there was no guarantee that the damage she had endured could ever be undone. Roman knew very intimately the effect a broken childhood could have on a person; brutally taking a life and getting one's hand tattooed at 14 was just scratching the surface.

Once again, the old man's last words rang in Roman's head.

 _"She has nothing to believe in but you…"_

He couldn't just abandon her; he was all she had. There were times Roman thought it best to be selfish in life, such as when gambling, or killing someone intent on killing him; in fact, most of life was better spent serving oneself and no one else, but leaving a girl who was the only reason he was still alive on the steps of some psych ward and then going on his merry way would haunt him to his grave.

"Dammit…" Roman sighed, dragging a gloved hand down his face.

There was a silver lining to his deliberations; no matter how fatigued he was he wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel, or joystick, with thoughts like these churning in his head.

* * *

It was hours before Vale's continent became visible, nigh-imperceptible on the horizon; the sun was high, the skies clear and blue, and it would still be many more hours before they reached the shore. Roman had been smoking cigars to keep himself awake, stubbing them out one after the other on the dashboard. He felt somewhat nauseous with only the heavy tobacco in his system, but the appearance of land on the horizon made him blink in relief that he was too drained to properly express.

His body ached from sitting in the same position for hours, and instead of trying to keep himself entertained with plots and in-depth fantasies, he had opted to empty his mind completely, letting random thoughts drift in and out as they came to him, focusing solely on the seemingly endless ocean ahead.

The memory of the Nevermore was still too palpable for his liking.

And he had creatures like that tattooed permanently on most of his body.

Would he ever be able to look at his own right hand again?

Probably. They had killed it in the end.

He chuckled. Ocean waves continued to crash below and in the distance. He passed over a small, nondescript island.

He needed to think of something to say when he found Giovane again.

Something cool.

He wanted to see the look on the fat faunus' face when he showed up after being thrown in _The Maw_ , complete with a snarky one-liner.

Footsteps.

Getting closer.

Roman snapped back into himself, whipping around only to startle Neopolitan who gripped the edge of the seat to keep from stumbling backwards.

"Oh! Neo," Roman chuckled nervously, tongue dry after hours of silence, "I, um…"

He didn't want to admit that for a split second, he had thought Neo had been a prisoner looking to stab him to death in The Maw.

She winced in pain, edging past Roman into the copilot's seat, where she clambered in clumsily.

"Your leg hurts, huh?"

Neo nodded. Frowning slightly, Her eyes were closed as she fingered the bandage on her calf.

Roman was amazed she was already up and moving. How long had it been?

"That was a hell of a move you pulled back there, with the Nevermore," he said, trying to get a smile out of the girl, "Did you augment your semblance with Dust? That's a Huntsman trick, I can't even do that."

He frowned dramatically, "And don't think I've forgotten how you picked my pocket; that was sneaky Neo, I feel betrayed."

Neo turned to him, a small smile forming on her face. Roman raised his eyebrow at her.

"Seriously," he pressed, trying not to grin, "Keep those sneaky fingers out of my pockets you little thief; I taught you to steal _for_ me. What if I'm hiding something from you?"

Neo playfully rolled her eyes, still smiling. They stared, their understated grins and exhausted, but calm eyes almost mirrored in one another's features. Neo shrugged and rolled her head away, towards the window. Lazy fingers twirled within her tangled locks.

 _I had to do it._

They rode in comfortable silence for a while. Neo, incapable of breaking the quiet even if she wanted to, was contently watching the clouds and waves as they rolled forth in an endless stream, occasionally wincing as she shifted her injured leg. Roman felt calmer with her by his side; he attributed it to his earlier concern for her health being satisfied, seeing her sitting feet away, more relaxed than he had ever seen her, or so it appeared.

Still, it was his worry that had been keeping him awake all this time, and now he felt the fatigue besetting his limbs with renewed force. He found himself blinking as his head lolled, body desperate for rest, and he shifted in his seat.

"When we get to Vale, Neo…"

He spoke up mostly to keep himself awake and focused. Neo looked to him, curious.

"…I don't really know where we're going to go just yet. I don't think I have a home, so we might not have anywhere to sleep, but there are places that you can, if you want to."

Neo raised an eyebrow.

"I know places," Roman continued, "There are good people there, they won't hurt you. You can sleep there, and they'll feed you, too."

Pink eyes widened; a small hand tensed on the armrest as Roman's stomach twisted.

"I'm not a great guy, Neo," he said, "I'm a scoundrel, and if you stick with me you might get hurt, again. There are people that will try to kill me, they won't think twice about killing you too, and once I go after Giovane, there are just going to be more of those people."

Neo shook as a single tear ran down her face. Before Roman could continue she shook her head, locks flying.

 _I'm staying with you._

She looked forward, eyes wide as they ran with silent tears.

"It's not like I want to leave you behind," Roman tried, "But you deserve a normal life; you're a kid, and there's still time for you to be one. Me? I never got that chance, and I want you to have it."

Neo clenched her teeth and shook her head once more, wiping at one pink eye.

 _I don't want it! I want to stay with you._

Roman sighed; how could Marcus be right about this? Neo was scared, and leaving her would only do more damage to a girl that had been already broken until fairly recently. It was an effort for him to speak to her like this; the last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain.

And she was also very handy in a fight.

There was still time to decide.

Roman chuckled, trying to lighten the mood; maybe if Neo smiled again he would stop feeling like a piece of trash for scaring her.

"Alright, you crazy kid," he said, "I guess we're sticking together; don't say I didn't warn you."

Neo closed her eyes, letting an audible breath escape with a shudder. She kept her eyes closed, nodding gently as she wiped away the beginnings of what would have been waterfalls.

She looked at him and nodded vigorously.

"I'm sorry Neo, I'm just exhausted, and…" he sighed, "I just…"

Neo shook her head, blinking.

 _It's all right._

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he said, "But it should be all right; we'll be watching each other's backs, just like we have been. What could go wrong?"

Neo nodded.

Only a few minutes passed, uneventfully, before Roman noticed the Dust gauge's needle dwindling at the halfway mark. He glanced worriedly at the landmass on the horizon, which seemed no closer, before remembering he had worked the problem over in his head hours ago; they would make it, even if they were running on fumes by the time they did.

The concern behind him, only relief remained as he realized he would finally be able to sleep.

"Looks like it's Marcus' turn to fly," he said, more excitedly than he intended, "Would you go wake him up, Neo?"

She smiled, climbing carefully out of the seat and entering the fuselage with the subtlest of limps. It didn't take long for Marcus to return in her stead, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"How long was I out?" he mumbled.

"No idea," Roman shrugged, "The sun is shining and I'm pretty sure Vale is over there."

Marcus followed Roman's finger and nodded.

"Should be a few more hours then," he said, gripping the joystick as Roman let go. The two men awkwardly shuffled past one another as Roman stood up for the first time since boarding the craft, stretching towards the ceiling in the door frame.

"Snowc-ugh, dammit, I mean Neo," Marcus called past him, "I might need your help up here; won't be able to get up quickly with my leg in a vice."

Neo looked up at Roman, putting her hands together against one cheek and miming a 'sleep' gesture in query.

"Damn straight," he yawned, moving past her as she returned to the cockpit and proceeded to mount the seat beside Marcus. Roman stepped over sections of the floor mangled by the collision with the Nevermore, but paid them barely any mind; the closer he got to the stiff-looking bench along the side of the fuselage the harder it became to keep his eyes open. The engines outside were louder now, but even he couldn't even bring himself to complain.

He removed his hat, laid gingerly across the bench, and once he closed his eyes everything he had been through since the start of the day, from nearly being killed in a prison riot and nearly being killed by Friedrick Russet, to nearly being killed by a sizable Nevermore and topping it all off with flying a bullhead halfway across the equator, all hit him with the combined force of a crashing wave. The quiet murmur of Marcus one-sidedly speaking to Neo blended with the drone of the engines, the perfect white noise for Roman to tune out his thoughts.

All of it: everything that happened and everything that was to happen, all of it could wait. Just for a moment. Just until he woke up.

* * *

 **RWBY Chibi has gotten significantly funnier these last few episodes.**

 **Being this driven to get words to page is a great feeling. Hold tight for the next chapter!**


	8. Folly

The smell of salt and spruce trees wafted through the confines of the bullhead, as Roman Torchwick's eyelids fluttered open to a recurring prodding against his bicep. His blurry vision traced over riveted, bent metal, and his burning muscles were weak as he willed them to move to no avail. The prodding continued.

"Alright, alright," he muttered to no one in particular, closing his eyes just before a small grip rocked him gently. He growled, and twisted his head to look at Neo, who knelt by the bench serving as his makeshift bed, her own mismatched eyes framed by dark circles of fatigue.

He sighed, unable to be mad at her even as his body cried for more rest, and he forced a smile through his half-conscious delirium.  
"Are we there yet?" he mumbled, his last words transitioning to a yawn.

Neo shrugged.

"Rise and shine, kid," Marcus called from the cockpit ahead of him, "We've got some things to discuss."

Roman sat on the edge of his bench, raising a hand to his head that throbbed with exhaustion; he had been so drained when he had retired that he had forgotten to unbuckle the masterwork gloves that now rubbed at his temples.

"Yeah, sure… fucking… in a minute…" he gestured idly with his gloved hands.

"No, fucking now."

The noticeable fatigue dripping from Marcus' gruff voice was not very inspiring.

Nevertheless, Roman rose to his feet, steadying himself with Melodic Cudgel on the bent and dented floor. Before he could convene with Marcus Neo presented his hat with an outstretched hand.

Roman blinked, "Oh, thanks Neo."

She grinned before turning and limping to the cockpit.

Roman proceeded to the front of the bullhead sluggishly; his rest had been completely dreamless, which meant there was no way he had rested for long enough to recover from the stresses of the day.

He leaned on the doorframe of the cockpit, "Alright, how long was I…?"

He trailed off as he glimpsed a vast expanse of brilliant red leaves that seemed to glow crimson as a golden sunset shined upon them. The forest of Forever Fall stretched on ahead, the bullhead gliding mere feet above the crimson canopy, and as Roman inhaled in awe of the view he caught the faint aroma of red sap as it filled the cockpit.

A thin mist surrounded the craft, but as the forest began to drop off the shapes of buildings materialized in the distance. Ahead was the city of Vale's commercial district; tall buildings reaching upward into the sky, and to the left the spires of Beacon Academy seemed to watch over the city like watchful guardians through the fog.

They were still several miles away, but right now Roman was gazing upon the titular capital city of the Kingdom of Vale; it was the city he had grown up in, known for all of his years, and he was closer than he'd ever thought he would be again.

"You were out for a couple of hours."

Marcus brought him back down to Remnant, "Long enough to get home, right?"

"No place like home," he nodded, "...You from Vale too?"

Marcus pointed to the east, opposite Beacon Academy and across the city to the range of jagged, mist-enshrouded mountains that had served as Vale's natural barriers for centuries.

"In a matter of speaking," he shrugged, "My shack is a few days' walk into the mountains. I hope Mercury fed the damned chickens while I was away on business."

Neo studied the mountains thoughtfully.

Roman watched as Marcus slowed their approach to a leisurely glide.

"Well, you can just set us down at the docks-"

"No, I can't," Marcus explained, "Our landing struts are ruined; might have had something to do with you _dropping_ us onto a Grimm."

"There was no other way," Roman defended instantly, "…Right, Neo?"

Neo shrugged quizzically.

" _Therefore,_ " Marcus picked up, "I can't set this bird down, and we'll run dry on Dust in half an hour, tops. I already have my getaway planned for after I crash and burn, but you and Snowcone…"

As if on cue, Neo proudly presented what looked like a strappy, buckle-laden backpack stuffed close to bursting.

"…You'll be jumping."

Roman's eyes widened.

"Is that… a parachute?"

"There was only one 'chute, but I figured you can just hold onto Snowcone; she can't weigh that much."

"I've never parachuted before!" Roman threw his hand up in protest, "You have _got_ to stop springing these things on me, Black!"

"Yeah? Well I'd never been dropped on top of a _Nevermore_ before today, but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

Roman met Marcus' raised eyebrow with an indignant scowl.

"You'll be fine," Marcus waved his hand, "We don't have any gravity Dust so at the moment, you don't have many choices. Just pull the ripcord and pray."

The assassin indicated the docks of Vale in the distance, only known to Roman because of the knowledge of the city's layout he had gained as a child, "We'll pass over the upper-class district in a few minutes, and then you'll jump at the docks. I'll put this baby in the ocean, and that's the last you'll hear from me."

"Your leg is in bad shape," Roman rubbed at his chin, "How are you even gonna get to the mountains, let alone swim to the shore?"

"Let's just say I know a guy," Marcus grunted, "Who knows a guy, who in turn, knows a guy who can smuggle me out of the city. I've been doing this for years kid, don't worry about me. Swimming won't be easy, but neither was fighting my way out of prison and getting chased by a Grimm."

"I didn't say I was _worried_ about you…" Roman muttered. He looked to Neo, who was still holding the parachute with a visible degree of uncertainty. It looked several years old. Though he tried not to focus on it, the thought of his legs shattering against concrete was more difficult to shut out than he liked.

"Alright…" he sighed, "Let's see this thing."

He took the offered parachute, which weighed several pounds, and donned it slowly and methodically. The complicated array of buckles and straps were fastened across his coat, around his thighs, and along his inner crotch. As the tightening buckles drew the straps higher into his groin, he briefly considered simply hugging the parachute to his chest on the way down and hoping for the best.

As he deliberated on whether his manhood or his life was the bigger risk, all the while being watched curiously and silently by his mute partner, a steady beeping emanated from the bullhead's dashboard, prompting Marcus to quickly reach for a nearby switch. Before Roman could ask what was going on a voice sounded forth and filled the cockpit with the crackling of static.

"This is Vale Air Control to unidentified aircraft," the female voice announced, her tone firm but official, "Your vehicle's registry is unconfirmed. Relay your flight authorization immediately or you will be forced to land, you will be detained, and will submit to a full search. You have thirty seconds comply. Over."

Roman felt a chill slither along the back of neck. Before he could run through every possible response, none of which were ideal, Marcus scrambled for a headset on his lap that he hadn't noticed before, bringing it to his ears and answering immediately.

"Vale Air Control this is Vector Delta; relaying flight authorization code echo-seven-one-eight, two-zero-one-three. I repeat: flight authorization code echo-seven-one-eight, two-zero-one-three. Sorry the bird gave you a scare; wasn't my first choice, but I couldn't be picky. How copy? Over."

The sound of static alone filled the cockpit for a few tense seconds. Marcus' face was set in deep concentration. The roar of the engines faded to a dull drone as Roman's heart pounded faster against his ribs. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, slicking his hair with a chill.

"…Vale Air Control to Vector Delta," the voice finally responded, "Your codes are ten years old. Why aren't you using the most recent codes? Over."

"I've been away," Marcus stated, "…Over."

"…Very well. You will set down at Airfield Viridian, where you will submit to a full search and verify your identity. Failure to comply will r-"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll blow me to bits. Complying. Over."

The voice did not respond. Marcus tossed his headset aside and turned to Roman, rolling his eyes.

"Get ready to jump," he grunted.

Roman smirked humorlessly; 'dodge one bullet, only to face another' seemed to be becoming his modus operandi.

"…You're not going to _comply_ , are you?"

Marcus' arched brow told him everything he needed to know.

"Right," Roman grinned as Neo hopped out her seat, wincing as she moved her injured leg.

"What was that code anyway?"

"Old Huntsman code. High priority. Ten years ago, it would have got us in or out without question."

"…Were you a Huntsman?"

Marcus clenched his jaw.

"Does it matter? Get ready to jump, we're coming up on the docks."

"Sure, let me just _get ready_ to leap thousand feet out of a moving vehicle while I trust my life to a backpack."

"Quit your whining."

Roman shuffled towards to the side door of the bullhead, Neo limping close behind. They both stopped at the door, Roman briefly watching the sky through the small viewport before glancing awkwardly at Neo.

"Okay…" he started.

Neo looked up at him expectantly, tilting her head.

 _You okay?_

Roman reached up to his head and handed Neo his hat.

"So, you hold on to that," he instructed firmly, "And I'll hold onto… you."

He was also mindful of Melodic Cudgel in his free grip, but quickly decided that after Marcus had almost dropped his beloved cane into the ocean, the only person he trusted with its safety was himself.

Neo gripped the black bowler tightly, and with a moment's hesitation, stepped close, the top of her head barely reaching Roman's abdomen. She moved to grab his leg, but both of them realized mutually that there were multiple better ways to go about their inevitable leap of faith.

Roman crouched down.

"Um… here."

He spread his hands, gently beckoning Neo closer. Her eyes widened, but she took small steps until she was close, and gripped his coat with more assuredness than her face betrayed. Roman hefted her, but she was surprisingly light at barely four and half feet, without a shred of detectable body fat on her frame, and assisting him with her own strength, he found it little trouble to lift her up. He supported her from under her thin thighs with one hand while he steadied them both against the wall with the other as as she hung her arms around his neck.

"I'm opening the doors!" Marcus called back, "When you jump, hold Neo tight, and let her pull the cord: I showed her what to do. We're approaching the docks; I'll fly as low as I can but you'll need time to pull your chute. If the police see you jump, they're you're problem!"

"Don't make me laugh!" Roman called back, "Once we get to the industrial district, they'll be scared to follow us where we're headed!"

Neo cocked a nervous eyebrow next to his face. He winked at her, and though she was still visibly hesitant, she flashed him a small grin.

Trust.

"We probably won't cross paths again," Marcus continued, "But Torchwick…"

The assassin's head poked around the corner to look back at them both.

"If we ever do, I'll buy you a beer!"

"I'll hold you to that!" Roman smirked, "But I prefer whiskey!"

Marcus laughed dryly, "Maybe I'll remember that; depends on how drunk I get when I get home!"

With that he turned back to the bullhead's controls. Not soon after the side door of the craft opened upwards, and the wind whipped at Roman's face as he gripped the wall. His eyes watered as Neo's tresses were tossed along with his fiery, unkempt mane. The moment he squinted at the cityscape below he was gripped by a dizzying vertigo as the docks came into view. Marcus veered the bullhead on course for the harbor.

"Get ready to jump!" he said.

Roman felt his scarf sticking to his neck. He glanced at Neo.

"…We've done crazier things," he laughed uncertainly.

Neo gulped, not taking her eyes off the shipping containers and cranes below that comprised the docks.

"Jump! Now!"

Marcus roared, and Roman's foot froze as he was about to take a step. His heart thundered, seemingly inside his very skull, and he bit back the taste of bile in his throat as his hands ran cold.

Every attempt to force himself out the door was met by limbs that refused to move until Neo steeled herself and turned to face him. She clamped her legs around his torso, put on her best mask of bravery, and with her arms around his neck, tugged him gently in the direction of the door.

There was no thought process accompanying his decision as Roman threw his feet forward, let go of the wall, and tumbled out of the bullhead, but only as he spiraled down into freefall, hair whipping as the wind tore at his skin and howled in his ears, did he muse on how Neo had been braver than he when face to face with death, in yet another instance in so many hours.

He heard nothing but the roar of the sky. His stomach roiled as he plummeted to Remnant, gripping Neo tightly to his chest as she held onto him like a vice. He felt cold, from his skin to his bones, weightless and helpless against the forces of gravity, unable to open his eyes against the wind even if he had possessed the courage; the world twisted and howled around him in darkness.

Neo's legs tightened around him, and one of her hands left his neck as she grabbed past him for the ripcord. He forced his eyes into a squint, and all he saw was a blurry mass of brown hair as Neo strained against him, reaching desperately for something that was just out of reach.

Roman adjusted his grip, jostling Neo in his arms inches closer to her goal, and as their collective weight shifted he glimpsed the rapidly approaching docks. His vision shook until the various shipping containers and loading equipment were just a slate-colored blur of motion, an abyss into which he was plunging, that would swallow he and Neo whole and do what The Maw, Russet, and the Nevermore had failed to do.

Neo growled and grunted, ripping her arm back to no avail. She grit her teeth, heaved with all her force, and in the space of an instant Roman was pulled backwards out of his dive as if by the hand of a merciful god. The parachute unfurled behind him, yanking him back with such force he felt his heart slam against his ribs, Neo's head bash against his own in a collision only aura mitigated before they were suspended in the air, their free fall reduced to a steady downward drift.

Roman grit his teeth as his vision refocused, but soon he breathed in long, ragged gasps. Neo's pulse raced through her limbs, clenched around him tightly as she steadied herself. The straps of the parachute pulled uncomfortably against his clothing.

He looked up to see a large, brown chute above them, casting them both in shadow as the wind kept the fabric stretched taut. One look at his feet and he saw the top of a blue-toned shipping container approaching quickly.

Oh. Shit.

Before he could warn Neo to brace for impact they collided with the Schnee Dust Company logo on the side of the container with a dull thud. Roman took the brunt of the impact against his arm, and once again his aura protected him from any serious damage. It did not however assist him in keeping his balance, and he tumbled onto the top of a nearby container still hugging Neo tightly to his body. The parachute was not far behind, and soon they found themselves smothered in a brown, heavy burlap blanket that smelled vaguely of mold.

"Shit, really?"

Roman flailed his arms. Neo tried to stand but ended up similarly buried. Together they attempted to extricate themselves from the suffocating, heavy material, but progress was slow. Eventually the first rays of light streamed in from outside, and they were spurred on anew, seemingly wrestling with the fabric and tossing clumps of it off in a single direction until they were free, and Roman collapsed onto the shipping container, too tired to even unstrap the parachute from his chest and legs.

He inhaled deeply, sure that after today he would have a newfound appreciation for the glorious smell of salt water and oil. The squawks of sea gulls sounded far away. The sun cast golden rays upon his pale face as he lay sore, exhausted, but alive.

"Neo…" he said, "We're home."

Of course, no verbal response came, and he cracked open his eyes to see Neo already standing, the breeze gently tossing her hair and dress as she looked into the sunset. He couldn't even be sure she heard him.

Roman had to admit, it was a sight for sore eyes. He stood, shedding the buckles and straps of the parachute before he lost the will to do so. He let the chute fall to the shipping container as he approached Neo. She was gazing at the horizon as the sun dipped below the sea, clutching his bowler hat in one small hand. He stood beside her, but she failed to notice him, mouth hanging agape.

He couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. If time had been of less essence, he would have let her enjoy the view for a while longer, but they had to get to the heart of the industrial district before the Vale Police Department showed up, and the sight of them jumping from a rogue bullhead and parachuting down to the docks was sure to have attracted at least a little attention.

He cleared his throat, and Neo jumped, eyes snapping to him with mismatched white and brown irises.

"You have my hat," he chuckled.

Neo beamed. She presented the bowler with one hand, excitedly pointing at the vista as with her other. Roman donned the hat and took in the view a second time. It had been three months since he had seen Vale's sunset, but for Neo, there was no telling how long it had been since she'd had a chance like this. Her smile sparkled with wonder as she resumed her observation.

She stumbled backwards as the bullhead they had been passengers on minutes prior came into view. It cut across the sky on a downward course for the waves, its engines audibly sputtering as they burned through the last specks of Dust in the craft's stores.

There was no sign of Marcus Black's exit as the craft flew directly into the harbor. There was a loud splash as the bullhead crashed into the ocean, massive waves splashed onto the edge of the docks, and even after several moments, Marcus did not surface.

Even if they hadn't attracted the attention of the authorities, a bullhead making a crash landing like that definitely would.

"You think he made it?"

Neo looked sad. She shrugged. Truthfully, without Marcus' help, Roman didn't know if his escape would have succeeded or not, and though he was unused to dwelling on the fates of people that were not him, he preferred to think that Black was alive and possibly swimming underneath the waves, the first step to seeing his son again.

"Well, we can't do anything for him," he said, "But we have to move, the cops are going to be here in minutes with a crash like that, and the sun is going down."

If they even wanted a chance at having anywhere to sleep come nightfall that wasn't a park bench, they had to leave the docks, and quickly. Neo appeared as though she didn't understand all the _why's_ and _how's_ of the situation, but she turned from the sunset and nodded to Roman nonetheless.

Trusting him.

* * *

Compared to escaping The Maw, slipping out of the docks had been a comparatively stress-free affair. For years Roman had made secret supply runs to and from Vale's docks for The Black Circle since he had been younger than Neo, and he knew every hidden path, entrance and exit like he knew the back of his tattooed hand. By the time Vale's authorities had shown up, with three cruisers that had contained six beat officers and a detective, all armed, he and Neo were clear of the docks and had paid a ferry to shuttle them across the small expanse of water that separated them from the industrial district.

Though the ferryman had given the two of them a suspiciously raised eyebrow, a small portion of the money Roman had filched from Russet's bathroom had spoken louder than the strange appearance of a well-dressed yet unkempt gentleman and his heterochromatic, barefoot, petite companion, who still smelled vaguely of blood.

Though Roman had wanted to check on the status of his penthouse, even though the likelihood was that it had been torched and scrubbed of everything he had owned, he knew it would have been a bad idea; if he and Neo set foot in the residential district as they were, a man and a child, both with filthy faces, with no scrolls and no forms of identification, the police would haul them down to the station for questioning, at best, and from there it would only get worse.

But the cops in the industrial district were of a different sort. They knew that in the shadows cast by the factories, warehouses, and cheap apartments that comprised the majority of the district's buildings, there lurked the worst of Vale's criminal element, from ruthless black-market dealers to sadistic assassins. Enough dead cops and the Huntsmen would start poking around, but the occasional lone officer that failed to report in was easy for the Black Circle that called the area home to make disappear. Completely.

So as Roman stepped off the ferry, Neo at his side, and set foot in the industrial district, he took comfort in the odds that if he were to run into a patrolling officer, they would take note of his cane, and the fact that his hands were gloved, and they would look the other way. Likely, he had more to fear from the Black Circle itself than the cops, so he had no problem exploiting his status as a former Operative for as long as it benefitted him. The sun was going down, the sky was a vibrant orange where it was visible through the smog that clouded the sky, and if he wanted a bed he had to make haste.

"Well, come on Neo," he sighed, twisting his head both ways and cracking his spine, "Just a bit farther."

He started off at a casual pace. His shoes clicked on the sidewalk in the shadow of a large apartment complex. Street lamps lit his path while holographic, immaterial signs designated the names of streets that were already filed away deep in his memories. Unlike old Vale, where the streets were made of cobblestone and the buildings brick, the industrial district was constructed mostly from concrete and plaster.

He had only walked a few feet when Neo let out a pained hiss. It was more noise than she usually made, and Roman turned behind him as his grip on Melodic Cudgel constricted.

Neo was closing the distance between them that had grown, albeit slowly, a visible limp in her step and a pained scowl on her face. She became wary of Roman's attention after a few seconds, and visibly tried to swallow her pain down, even as she scanned every dark corner around them.

Roman frowned; as familiar as Vale was to him, the wide streets and open sky still felt alien and vulnerable after months spent in the confines of The Maw. To Neo, it must have been even more of a shock to her system; after her initial awe at the docks she had quickly retreated into paranoia, constantly watching every corner and scanning their surroundings almost obsessively, and all this was in addition to the bandages wound tightly around her cauterized calf, which clearly still pained her, and would for a few days at the least while it healed.

"Alright," Roman sighed. He knew it would attract attention, but he couldn't let Neo continue to walk when every step she took was painful enough for her to wince.

It wasn't out of the kindness of his heart as he knelt down in front of the confused Neo. If she continued to walk all sorts of things could happen that would make their lives much more difficult than they already were; her leg could swell, and become useless and cumbersome, and even if that didn't happen her hampered pace could slow them down and prevent them from reaching their destination in time.

Roman placed his hands down on the sidewalk, one on top of the other.

"Come on," he said, "Hop on up."

Neo was still. Her mouth hung open as she quizzically cocked a brow.

"You don't… oh, for fuck's sake…"

Roman approached and scooped her small form in his arms, to which her only protest was a hitching of breath and the stiffening of her tired limbs. He shouldered her, mindful of her wounded calf, and situated her atop his shoulders. Before he rose, he made sure she had a loose but stable grip around his neck.

"Alright, just hold on, okay?" he muttered as he rose gradually to his feet, Neo sitting with her legs on either side of his face, still stiff and uncomfortable. Though her weight was noticeable on his shoulders, Roman doubted she was more than fifty pounds, and proceeded down the street, one hand loosely gripping Neo's uninjured leg, the other holding Melodic Cudgel.

They passed a fair number of pedestrians as they walked, most of them factory workers shuffling on home, others stood on street corners smoking cigarettes. Some gave the pair sideways glances, but no one spared them more than quick once-over. Though she had been rigid at first, Neo soon relaxed as Roman shouldered her, and her calm demeanor led most to simply assume he was a father giving his injured daughter a piggyback ride home from playing barefoot at the park. If anyone assumed more than that, the cane with visible combat enhancements clutched at the ready in his hands was enough to keep them at a distance. They knew better than to ask questions in this part of Vale.

Personally, Roman was in rather high spirits as he sauntered down the sidewalk, passing shops, restaurants, bars, bus stops, and even factories that had become landmarks to him, and that he'd thought he would never see again. The aroma of greasy food drifted under his nose from a nearby hot dog stand, mixing with the smell of processed Dust and oil that permeated the entire district on a constant basis.

Home, sweet home.

The hot dog vendor, a stout man with a thick mustache and shoulder-length hair caught Roman sniffing the air and waved to him.

"How about some hot dogs!" he shouted, "One for you and one for the little lady!"

The attention caught Roman by surprise, and he flinched before realizing he was no longer in The Maw. The vendor looked just as startled as he, and he quickly decided the best thing to do to blend in was to buy a hot dog.

Or maybe it was his stomach that done the decision-making. The details weren't important. He took a quick glance at the sky, which still held the last rays of light, and veered for the hot dog stand.

"We're closing soon," added the vendor with a grin, "Last chance!"

"Actually, two hot dogs would be great," Roman said, "Cheese and bacon for me, ketchup for her."

He tapped Neo's leg.

"Coming right up!" the vendor clapped his hands together. As he began to prepare their already-cooked franks Roman looked upwards and past the rim of his hat. Neo was focused on the hot dog stand, and Roman even thought he saw a bead of drool glisten on the corner of her mouth.

"You're gonna love this," he said to her, "Hot dogs are no five-star meal, but they're still a delicacy in my book."

"She's never had a hot dog before?"

The vendor looked to Neo as he spread the ketchup on her frank, smiling genuinely. Neo, however, blanched and looked away quickly, flinching as their food was set gently on the stand.

"She's my sister's kid," Roman laughed, "Sis can be a bit of a… prude; never gives the poor kid any junk food."

He laughed with the vendor and leaned Melodic Cudgel against the stand, freeing his hands to dig for the wad of cash in his pocket. The man eyed the cane for a moment but made no comment. Roman paid him, tipped him, and laughed some more about how _shy_ his _niece_ was before he continued on their way, Melodic Cudgel held under one arm as he bit into his hot dog.

After three months of nothing but prison food and questionable water, the decent-sized frank never had a chance as Roman ravenously wiped it from existence.

"Neo," he said through a mouthful of delicious carbohydrates, "What did you thi-"

A tug on his shoulder interrupted him. He looked up and glimpsed Neo pointing an arm back in the direction of the hot dog stand, cheeks full and smeared with ketchup, eyes set in determination, and her hot dog nowhere in sight.

Roman swallowed before he lost the opportunity, laughing and shaking his head.

"You want another one? Already, huh?"

Neo nodded vigorously. Her eyes practically glowed.

"Yeah… maybe tomorrow."

* * *

They didn't have much farther to go, but by the time Roman set Neo down on the sidewalk the sun had disappeared, leaving the streets caught between shadow and the lampposts' unnatural yellow glow. They were noticeably emptier of people, and after walking them for several miles carrying Neo on his shoulders Roman was acutely aware of the burning in his calves. The wounds inflicted by Russet had healed into a pattern of pink, raised scars beneath his pants, but if the throbbing in his legs was anything to go by, the damage was more than just aesthetic. It was possible that it would take the better part of a year for his legs to return to full combat efficiency.

They stood under a single lamppost, staring across the street at a large two-story shop. The neon, holographic sign projected a stylized logo in the shape of two curling horns protruding from a dripping heart with dramatically lashed eyes above the single glass door, while various posters advertising concerts and bands covered the windows.

 _Wildebeest Ink_.

Roman had been here numerous times, and each time he had left tender, sore from holding the same position for hours, and sporting a new Grimm creature that would call his skin its home until the day he died. Whenever a Circle Operative successfully completed a contract, they were sent to this address, lien in hand, and instructed not to return until they had appropriately commemorated the occasion with the help of the artists contracted by the local Black Circle leadership.

The shop was a hotspot for Circle activity, with Operatives old and new showing up every few days within the throng of regular customers, but right now it was their best shot…

If Roman was friendly enough. He looked at Neo standing close to his leg, eyes ringed with fatigue and her lips set in a tired pout. She would _definitely_ help. If this plan failed though, he wasn't looking forward to telling her they would have to walk a few more miles in hopes of finding a cheap motel.

He crossed the street, and Neo followed, limping as her injury caused her to hiss uncomfortably with almost every step. For her sake, and his own, he hoped their journey was at an end soon. He stepped up to the door, and with only the briefest hesitation he moved for the handle-

-Only to have to it open inward, retreating from his grasp as it was pulled by a young, feline faunus. The woman stared at Roman awkwardly for a moment before she shuffled past him, mumbling a quiet apology as her bandaged bicep grazed his coat. He watched the patron leave before he ushered the hesitant Neo inside ahead of him.

The spacious room was harshly lit by a few scattered sources; a desk laden with forms and backed by a glowing stereo system was directly ahead, from which pulsed a combination of electronic beats and distorted guitars at a modest volume. To their immediate right was a cornered couch, complete with a coffee machine and a pile of magazines, and further ahead was a black leather chair surrounded by multi-colored bottles and a varied array of tattooing needles scattered haphazardly across a variety of surfaces.

"Sorry, shop's closed."

A voice, feminine, friendly, but final, originated from behind the desk along with the rustling of papers, "I'll take an appointment if you want to set one up, but we're after-hours as is."

A head of pixie-cut, bleach blonde hair streaked with bright crimson was the first sign of her, followed by an exposed set of svelte shoulders and arms completely covered in vibrant tattoos. Her golden skin was only visible on her face before it disappeared behind the stylized wildebeest across her neck, and large, deep blue eyes surrounded by heavy yet precise makeup fixed the duo with a firm stare.

"We have openings on…"

Her face froze, trailing off as she beheld them. Roman stayed still, grinning even as he tried to decipher the range of emotions subtly playing over the tattoo artist's face. She opened her lips as if to shout but quickly closed them, ocean eyes glancing briefly at Neo before focusing back on him; she looked like she was trying judge if he was real or merely an apparition.

"Roman…?"

He laughed uncomfortably, "Hey Folly… long time, no ink, h-"

"Roman. _Fucking._ Torchwick!?"

Folly practically jumped out from behind her desk, closing the distance between them with long, swift strides.

"I thought you were _dead_ , man!" She clapped him on the shoulder, beaming with visibly apparent disbelief.

Roman laughed genuinely; so far, this was going better than expected.

"Well, I almost was," he said, "Sorry I didn't stop by, I was taking a nice little _vacation_ in Atlas, and the CCT reception was just a _tad_ spotty…"

He trailed off when he noticed Folly curling her lip at his face, like she wasn't even listening.

"Um…"

"…You look like shit," she murmured.

"Okay… missed you too."

Instead of replying Folly stepped back and faced Neo. Her eyes lit up, and she leaned forward, hands on her knees.

"And who are you?" she asked with a smile, "I don't think we've met before."

Neo stepped back, obscuring herself partially behind Roman's leg. She looked at her bare feet and shuffled them.

"Awww, don't be shy honey!" Folly cooed, "Your eyes are so beautiful!"

She turned her face back up to Roman.

"Are they real!?"

"It's okay Neo," Roman laughed, "Folly's the one who did most of my tattoos; she won't hurt you."

Neo seemed unconvinced. Even so, she stepped forward and met the artist's eyes.

"I'm Folly; Folly Rosenwood," she held out her hand, tattooed with a realistic purple rose, and Neo stared at it. Before she could take it, if she even intended to, Folly caught sight of Neo's legs and gasped.

"Roman, where are her shoes?" she demanded, "And what happened to her leg? And when's the last time she ate anything!?"

"Whoa, whoa!" Roman held up his hands, "Look, I can tell you everything, but let me tell you: Neo and I have _had_ a day."

Folly stood, crossing her arms, "Is that somehow tied into the bullhead that crashed in the harbor earlier today?"

"…Well-"

"And why everyone said you were dead for the past three months?"

"…The Black Circle said that?"

"Yeah, the ones who didn't just tell me to stop asking questions about you!"

She started counting on her fingers.

"Gelb, Yuri, Robyn, Sascha, Ryuuko… practically everyone just told me you were _dead_ , man! A few of the newer Operatives just told me to stop asking about you, or I'd _die_ as well, and now here you are, wearing a designer coat, smelling like a fucking trashcan, and looking like you haven't eaten in weeks! Not to mention: you _never_ smell bad, and you _always_ shave, which makes this whole situation even weirder."

The only sound was Folly's stereo system pulsing consistently in the background. Roman sniffed himself self-consciously.

"…Not that I'm not glad to see you," she added with raised hands, "And the hat is a good look for you."

"Thanks, I thought so," he said, "First off, whatever you were told was bullshit. I've been in The Maw for the last few months, so sorry I haven't dropped by."

Folly's eyes bulged in disbelief. She shook her head slightly as she searched for words.

"Wait, it's… real?"

"Well, it was," he amended, "Neo and I did a number on the place on our way out. You can say most of the staff were terminated, permanently."

She blinked.

"…You just broke out of prison?"

The question was voiced like a statement. Roman nodded.

"Yep."

"In Atlas?"

"More or less. Atlas was a few hours away."

"And you two broke out… together?"

Roman smirked, "I've been training her."

"…And now you're here… because after breaking out of prison, in Atlas, the first thing you want to do… is get a tattoo!?"

This time he hesitated. Honestly the idea had sounded better in his head.

"Well…" he started with a humorless chuckle; "I… don't have a bed, or _anywhere_ , anymore. The Circle probably torched everything."

Folly bit her lip. "I think I remember one of them saying something about that, actually…"

"And I can't go to them and ask for a place, because I think they're the reason I ended up in prison."

Silence. Roman visibly swallowed his pride.

"Look, Folly," he spread his hands, "I know that to the Black Circle, you're just the girl who does the ink, but right now, you're all I've got. Neo's injured, we're both exhausted, we don't have much money because everything I owned probably belongs to the Circle at this point… and I was just..."

He looked away; the words were a lot more difficult to say than he they should have been.

"I need a place to stay," he hurried, "Only for a few nights! Or something. Look, I have some lien. I can pay."

Folly smiled as he talked, glancing at Neo.

"Roman," she held up a hand, laughing and sighing in what sounded close to relief, "I don't know what's going on between you and the Circle, but you've always been a cool guy; when they told me you were dead… well, the rest of my week was kind of shit."

Neo looked up at Roman, grinning as if in approval.

"You and… Neo?" The tattoo artist received a nod from the small girl before continuing, "You guys can stay upstairs. The guest room is pretty small though, and it's only got one bed… Sorry in advance."

Roman breathed a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Thanks Folly," he bowed his head, "Where we were we didn't have beds at all; I think we'll be okay."

She suddenly turned serious, crossing her arms and pointing a finger at his face.

"But you're taking a shower before you even touch that bed," she said, "Both of you."

On any other day, getting a finger jabbed in his face would have pissed Roman Torchwick off.

Today would have also been of those days, had Folly's sentence not included the word _shower_.

"…You don't have to tell me twice."

* * *

Like most business owners in the industrial district of Vale, Folly Rosenwood lived above her shop in a multi-room apartment, and Roman had never been so thankful for this fact. This particular trek up the short flight of stairs was not his first, as he had often joined her for coffee after many of his tattoos, when time allowed him. Being not only one of the most talented tattoo artists in the city, but also attractive, friendly, and contracted by the local criminal organization, she lived comfortably: Her living room was spacious and merged with the kitchen, with several doors leading to a bedroom, guest room, and bathroom in the corner. Posters of bands with borderline illegible logos covered the beige walls, and a collection of several awards was displayed atop a long table underneath a large, paned window.

One award stood out: _Best Grimm Design, Vale Tattoo Convention._ Roman didn't doubt it; it wasn't like Grimm tattoos provided the bulk of Folly's income.

The artist showed them to the bathroom, opening the door as she stifled a yawn.

"Sorry, long day," she said barely intelligibly, "Towels are in the bottom drawer, hot is right, cold is left, and _don't_ use the blue shampoo, it's Dust-infused specialty brand. Everything else is fair game, for tonight. Which one of you is going first?"

To the surprise of everyone else, Neo placed her hand on the doorframe, nodding confidently to Roman. He was about to ask if she knew how a shower worked, before recalling the many times he had seen her return to their cell with her hair freshly washed and brushed, and decided to trust her.

Folly just smiled, "Looks like she beat you to the punch, man."

Roman sighed dramatically.

"She's _always_ faster than me!"

Neo giggled soundlessly, with only the shaking of her shoulders and the rolling of her eyes.

"Alright," Folly laughed, "Take as long as you need to honey, and feel free to use my comb. Roman, help me find some clothes that will fit her; she can't sleep in…"

She briefly appraised the dirty, dully bloodstained, frilly black dress Neo still wore with a scowl.

"…Uhh... _that._ "

Roman fell into step behind Folly, throwing a glance back at Neo as they temporarily went their separate ways. Though the girl's eyes were tired, she smiled at him before she closed the door, leaving him alone with the artist who had so kindly offered them sanctuary.

"You sure you even have anything small enough for her?" he asked as Folly led the way to her bedroom, her head about level with his shoulder as they walked.

"I have a few small T-shirts that will be loose on her," she said, unworried. As she opened the door to her room she hesitated midway, turning to face him.

"Can she talk?"

Folly spoke so quietly she was practically mouthing the words.

Now Roman hesitated as he cast another glance towards the bathroom, where the sound of running water was faintly audible.

"Nope," he answered, "She was my cellmate for three months; hasn't said a word."

Folly bit her lip as she too glanced at the bathroom door. She finished opening her door and led Roman into what was, for all intents and purposes, a bed surrounded by a floor made of clothing. The artist tiptoed to a large dresser and started tossing more items to the already-besieged floor as Roman lingered in the doorway.

"I still can't believe all this," Folly shook her head as she rummaged, "I can even believe you got sent to The Maw, but I can't believe you _escaped_. The other Operatives all talk like it's a death sentence."

Looking at it from the outside, Roman was having difficulty fathoming that 24 hour ago he had been a prisoner with no hope of escape for three months. The fact that he was standing as a free man once again, and back home in Vale no less was frankly speaking, a miracle. The smells, the shop, and the old friends were all familiar, and welcome, but it all still felt surreal; visible but not quite tangible, like he was looking through another man's eyes.

"What can I say?" he shrugged the uneasiness off, "I'm a talented individual… and I had help."

"Still…" Folly glanced over her shoulder, "Not only are you here, but you come back with an adorable little cutie pie who smells like blood, can't speak, and just… It's just insane, man."

"…She smells like blood?"

"Uh, dude!" Folly turned around, cocking one waxed eyebrow, "She _reeks!_ And so do you! And trust me, I know what blood smells like."

Roman glanced at Melodic Cudgel and thought back to the hot dog vendor and the various others he had passed on the streets; maybe the cane held more power than he thought in this part of town.

"You're gonna have to tell me about all this at some point," Folly sighed, "Anyway, this should be fine for her to sleep in."

The artist held up a mid-sized black shirt, slightly faded of its color and emblazoned with an image of five long haired, bearded men with a logo that was slightly more legible than the posters in the living room.

"Silent Murder…" Roman deciphered with squinted eyes, "That's… fitting for her, actually."

Folly rolled her eyes, "…I won't ask."

She slung the shirt over one arm and held up another shirt, this one far larger and clearly designed for a male physique. The aesthetic was more of what Roman expected of Folly's tastes; it bore the image of a winged, horned skull with an illegible crimson logo.

"This is the _only_ men's shirt I have," she said sternly, "The singer of Pig Annihilator threw it into the crowd one night, I caught it, and I literally punched a dude for it, so _please_ be careful with it."

Roman nodded, "Right, Pig Annihilator; not sure if I've heard of them. You have any bo-"

He caught the shirt as it was lazily tossed towards him, followed by a pair of striped boxers an instant later.

"Those belonged to my ex," she said, "So I don't really care about those."

They returned to the living room and immediately Roman collapsed into the nearest chair, and if Folly would have let him, he could have fallen asleep on the dining table; for the first time in months, he felt like he could relax without having to worry about getting free, getting stabbed, or getting eaten.

Folly placed the clothes in front of him and walked out of view.

"You're _not_ sleeping on my table," she said.

Roman groaned.

"Seriously… you're not," he heard the sound of a fridge opening, "You want a beer?"

That was the second time he had been asked to partake of brew in so many hours; though Roman was not averse to drinking, far from it, beer was not his preferred method of imbibing alcohol, even if it could be tasty under the right circumstances. But Folly didn't drink whiskey, and seeing as she was offering…

"…What have you got?"

"Schnee Ice…"

Roman grimaced: absolutely not, he was not in his first year of college.

"Vale Pale Ale… Scrambled Tea, Mitch's Hard Lemonade, Battlin' Jack's…?"

Roman summoned forth the effort to lift his head off the table.

"For fuck's sake Folly is this a tattoo parlor or a bar?"

"It's technically my apartment, smart-ass," she smirked, "It's also my beer, so watch your mouth, or you'll go to bed sober... in my apartment."

Roman shrugged, chuckling, "I'll take a Battlin' Jack's, thanks."

There was the clinking of bottles followed by the click of a bottle opener before Folly sat across from him, a Scrambled Tea in her hand, and placed a bottle in front of him adorned by the colorful image of a muscular boxer with a grinning jack-o'-lantern for a head. He took hold of the sweet-smelling beverage as Folly raised her bottle.

"A toast," she said, "To you not being dead and escaping the scariest prison in all of Remnant."

"I'll drink to that," Roman clinked his beverage against Folly's and together they drank.

He recalled Battlin' Jack's as a quality beer, blurry as his memories involving it were, but after months of nothing but dirty water, the amber beverage was like a supple sample of heaven's nectar. The taste was almost overwhelming, and he squinted as he savored the rich flavor and spicy aroma.

"Thanks again, Folly," he said after a deep breath, "You didn't have to do this."

Folly waved her hand, not quite finished with her drink.

"I kind of did," she laughed, "I couldn't leave just leave you out on the street, or Neo either… I'm just glad you're alive; I thought I'd never see you again."

Roman smirked.

"I'm flattered," he said, placing a hand over his chest, "I didn't know you felt that way about me, Folly."

"…I missed you, man," she said seriously, and her sincerity was in stark contrast to his sarcasm.

He wasn't sure how to respond to it. He sipped his beer, and thought about how many times he had thought of her during his imprisonment, which was seldom. He wanted to think that it was because his life had been completely decimated, and that escape and survival had taken priority, but he still felt a pang of guilt as he sat at Folly's table, drinking her beer, in her apartment, about to use her shower and sleep in her guest room.

"How old is she?"

The artist broke the silence.

"…Neo?"

"Uhh, who else?"

They chuckled together.

"Well... it's not like she could tell me," Roman began as Folly nodded understandingly, sipping her drink, "But she's at least a teenager, I'd wager."

"Her? A teenager?" Folly was skeptical but not aggressive, "She's… not even five feet tall."

"We shared a toilet…"

Folly winced, "Gross, but how is that relevant?"

Roman glanced at the bathroom door.

"You know… once a month…?"

Folly's eyes narrowed, then widened as she nodded.

"Ohh, right," she took another drink, "Gotcha…"

Roman joined her, taking a swig from his beer; the alcohol was already hitting him hard, probably due to a combination of not drinking for months along with every shred of body fat he had ever possessed being burned away. His cheeks were warm, and his tired limbs buzzed pleasantly.

"Is that how she lost her voice?" Folly asked, quieter than usual, "I… can't imagine being a child in that place."

The image of the broken shell that Neo had been when he had first arrived in The Maw struck Roman like a bolt of lightning. He swigged from his drink quickly.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with her," he admitted, lowering his voice to Folly's level, "If it weren't for her, I'd be dead, Folly; she saved my life multiple times on our way out, but look: there's no question that she's fucked up. The shit she went through… it's the stuff of nightmares."

Folly shifted uncomfortably as Roman continued.

"I feel like I should get her help, but I also feel like leaving her would just fuck her up even more than she already is. She helped me escape, she saved my life, and I feel like I owe it to her to stick around."

"…What's your plan?"

Roman shrugged.

"I need a scroll, and an ID, for starters, but I know ways I can get those, easily."

"I don't want to know; I just do the tattoos," Folly laughed.

Roman grinned, "After that, I'm going after Giovane," he continued, "…And I'm going to gut him."

"Your old boss?"

"Damn straight. He screwed me over. He sent me on a simple snatch and grab raid, and the next thing I know they're tattooing a number on my arm in The Maw. I'm gonna wring it out of him: why he stabbed me in the back, and then I'm going to make him bleed. Neo… I taught her how fight as best I could; I didn't have a weapon, but Folly, that kid is _good_. She's practically a natural. She knows how to manifest aura, _and_ she has a semblance."

Folly almost spat out her drink.

"W-What!?"

"And I did _not_ teach her that one. She's useful, no question about it."

Folly looked thoughtful. She looked away, finishing her drink with a few sips before gently setting the empty bottle down aside her.

"If you think she's as good as you say she is," she said, "Then she's safest with you."

There was creak as the door to the bathroom opened just enough for Neopolitan's head to poke out into the living room, damp hair completely pushed back. She looked around uncomfortably with two pink eyes before pointing to the clothes upon the table.

"Oh!" Folly rose from her chair, "Just a sec, honey."

She picked up the Silent Murder band shirt from the table and handed it to Neo, who quickly retreated back into the bathroom with a curt nod. Folly turned to Roman.

 _She's so small_ she mouthed with a smile.

Roman finished his beer with one long swig, right before Neo exited the bathroom, still toweling her brunette locks, and wearing the shirt that fit her like a dress with the way it hung off her frame, ending just above her knees. She looked up at Folly with a small smile and nodded with closed eyes.

 _Thank you_.

"I hope you're comfy, Neo," Folly beamed, "I'll wash your dress for tomorrow."

Neo immediately waved a hand and shook her head.

"Well… I don't have anything else that will fit you."

Neo's smile dropped.

"But… I think _Roman_ was planning on going out tomorrow," she fixed him with a stare, "I'm sure he can buy you some new threads."

Roman was about to protest; all he had was the stack of bills he had taken from Russet, and he had to make it last. Despite the simple math, the combined pressure of Neo's innocent smile and Folly's playful grin but unyielding glare was too much to resist.

"Um, of course!" he said, rising from the table and wobbling from the alcohol, "Yeah I'll stop by the mall; you can go with me, Neo! We'll make you look as good as me!"

He popped his collar as Neo rolled her eyes.

"You guys are just…" Folly shook her head, smiling, "Well, I have a client coming in at ten tomorrow to work on a back piece, should take me all morning. Roman, you know where the guest room is. I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay?"

"Will do," Roman said as Neo smiled appreciatively.

With no more than a parting yawn Folly proceeded to her bedroom, leaving Roman and Neo on their own. Roman walked slowly to the guest room, his sense of balance impeded by the combined forces of alcohol and extreme fatigue, and opened the door. In contrast to the rest of Folly's apartment, the room was simple, with a double bed underneath a large window set into the inwardly slanted wall, from which most of the illumination originated. There was a night table beside the bed, a small dresser with a mirror, a potted plant that was obviously fake from its plastic sheen and lack of any sort of aroma, and not much else.

Roman flipped the light switch on the wall, bathing their surroundings in yellow, and Neo proceeded to the bed cautiously. She poked the simple sheets, her face unreadable. He watched the way she manipulated them carefully, peeling them back with meticulous dexterity, as if they would crumble to dust if she mishandled them.

"We did it."

He spoke before he could catch himself. Neo looked back at him, and he continued, similarly unfiltered.

"I didn't think we would, but we got away, huh? Took revenge, and now we're free. We make quite the team, Neo."

She nodded and smiled, though her efforts did not match the look in her eyes, which had hardly changed from their final days in The Maw. Freedom must have felt like a dream for her, if that, and Roman felt an uncomfortable chill touch his skin like a ghostly hand.

He approached the bed as Neo slipped underneath the covers, and still her eyes quickly scanned the room before she truly let her head fall to the pillow. Though he still needed to shower, and wouldn't dream of betraying Folly after her generosity, he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning Melodic Cudgel against the night table as Neo sunk into the covers beside him.

"Comfy?" he asked, and he received a genuine smile underneath distant eyes.

"Well, don't get used to it," he laughed, "After I shower, this bed is mine too, so don't let me come back and find you sprawled out on my side, because I _will_ move you."

Neo shuffled a few inches closer to the window, moving her hair with her hands. The many, small brunette curls ruffled as she resettled herself, looking at Roman.

 _Satisfied?_

Roman nodded his approval.

"Now stay there," he grinned.

Neo looked away. Silence ensued. Roman was exhausted; he should have been in the shower before he lost the will to move, but he couldn't leave.

"Neo…" he started, his grin dropped, "You okay?"

She didn't respond.

He sighed; he had a feeling that he knew what was troubling her, and preventing her from slipping into the well-deserved sleep that was beckoning. He looked away.

"When I told you about revenge," he started, "You thought… it would solve everything, didn't you? You thought it would… get rid of the memories?"

He glanced back at her, and her vacant gaze was fixed on the faded numbers on her arm.

But she wasn't looking at them.

He averted his eyes again.

"I know how you feel," he said, "When I killed my uncle, I thought that maybe if I beat him hard enough, the more I made him bleed, the memories would bleed away with him."

He cracked his neck as familiar but unwelcome feelings crept back from the recesses of his consciousness. Neo was unresponsive.

"I'm sorry if you feel like I lied to you, I… I didn't mean to," he said, "I don't know how long you were in there, but I know it was a long time, so I'll tell you the truth, and nothing else: you can't change the past. Everything that's happened to you: there's nothing you can do that will make it not have happened."

He felt the sheets move as Neo tightened her grip on them.

"But you can change who you become," he turned to her, "You're free now; and now what you do with your life is up to you. Maybe you feel like the old Neo was weak…"

She closed her eyes.

"Maybe you feel like the old Neo should have done something: something to stop what was happening to her, to stop what happened in the first place to put her there, or maybe you feel like no matter what you might have done, even if you had had the chance, it wouldn't have changed a thing, so there's no point in trying to escape the pain because it happened anyway."

A tear ran down Neo's cheek as her closed eyes tensed. For an instant, Roman considered just shutting up, but he had already said too much; she needed to hear this, no matter how much it hurt him to say and her to listen.

"And you'd be right… so leave the old Neo behind, and change: Become a new, stronger Neo; a new Neo that won't suffer, that won't surrender; a new Neo that hurts her enemies so badly they'll be afraid to hurt her. Let your fear, your pain die with the old Neo, so the new Neo can walk away and be someone else."

He placed a gloved hand on her hair, and she took hold of it, gripping tightly.

"The old Neo was hurt by Russet," he said, "She was scared of him, but the new Neo killed him; she scared him, hurt him, cut off his hand and left him to suffer, and now she's free, with her own life, and he's not. He died alone."

She opened her eyes; they glistened as she looked up at him and swallowed.

"The old Roman is dead," he whispered, "He died when I killed my uncle, but the new Roman is here, with you. We can't change the past, but we can use it to become stronger, and we won't let anyone hurt us. They'll be afraid of us."

Neo brought his hand to her face. She nodded, gripping his glove with tight, small knuckles.

"…It's okay to cry… think of it as your pain leaving your body…"

Roman chuckled softly, "I won't tell Marcus, I promise."

Neo's shoulders shook, at first with a smile and soundless laughter.

And then the tears fell.

She wept as softly and silently as she laughed, and Roman stayed quiet. He let her grip his hand, and he shifted his position on the bed so he could stroke her hair with his free one as she purged all the fear, all the pain, all the loneliness and hunger and rage that had festered in her mind for so long as her shoulders shook and her breath hitched in arrhythmic gasps. He knew as well that this would not be the only time she would do this, but he did know that the next time it happened, he would be there for her in the same way; no one had offered them their hand when he had cried, but he would offer her his.

To hell with Marcus' advice: to hell with therapy and adoption and going their separate ways so he could bang faunus in Menagerie: Neo needed him, and in a way, he needed her too. She wasn't like a daughter, but more of a sister, one who he had never met until misfortune had led him to her, and she needed his help.

She cried for several minutes, but he didn't rush her, and eventually her tears were dry on the back of his glove. She breathed slowly, and relaxed her grip, giving way to the sensation of his fingers through her hair. He pulled away, subtly, fading his touch to a light caress, and then to a slow, measured graze before he stopped and rose from the bed, careful not to wake her. As he left the room he watched her slumber, as he had never really had a chance to before. Ironically, she made more noise asleep than conscious, even if that noise was only high-pitched, rhythmic, nasal snores that whistled through the room as her small chest rose and fell beneath the covers.

Roman felt a heat rising in his cheeks as he closed the door; even after watching her butcher her way to freedom, and hearing tales of how she literally tore her previous cellmate to pieces…

She was precious.

He still hated kids… just not _this_ kid.

He proceeded to the bathroom, stripped, and showered in a daze; by this point he was too tired to truly bask in the scintillating sensation of the water and lavender soap washing the grime and blood from his skin, occasionally leaning against the side of the shower, closing his eyes, and simply letting the water run over him as he let his mind go blank. When he stepped out and dried himself off, after a solid twenty minutes enjoying the experience, he stepped to the bathroom mirror and marveled at his freshened appearance.

"Hey there, good looking," he murmured, running a hand through his cleansed, fiery mane. While the feeling of his clean hair was immensely gratifying, he made a mental note to get it trimmed as soon as possible, as well as shave the random, red patches of facial hair that had managed to creep onto his usually hairless face. At least his tattoos looked vibrant and fresh once again decorating his toned physique.

He donned the Pig Annihilator shirt and boxers left out for him, dumped his clothes onto the floor of the guest room, and topped the resulting pile off with his hat. On the contrary, and despite his fatigue he took his time climbing into bed beside Neo, gently lifting the covers and slipping underneath so slowly and carefully his tired muscles began to cramp.

His damp hair hit the pillow, shared between him and the peaceful Neo, and it didn't take long for his eyes to flutter shut. He faced Neo as she slept, and before he drifted off, he wondered who her parents were: If they were alive, where they had come from, if they had died trying to keep her from The Maw.

And if they'd be happy where she was now, if they knew.

* * *

Neopolitan wasn't sleeping.

She was certain she had drifted off for at least a few minutes, but she never stayed that way for long; sleep brought with it images horrible enough to compete with consciousness.

Still, she had closed her eyes once more, but when Roman returned, and had carefully proceeded into bed beside her, smelling like shower, she had been completely aware. She had kept her eyes closed as he had been careful not to disturb her; though his efforts had been unneeded, she appreciated the courtesy. Within minutes he was asleep, snoring rhythmically but not obtrusively as he always did when he slumbered.

Only then did she open her eyes and watch him.

The bed was comfortable; soft, clean, only comparable to memories that were so faded and fragmented that she was able to glimpse them solely in dreams, but then she ran the risk of reliving others, most more recent and tangible.

Roman had fallen asleep facing her; he was so peaceful when he slept that at first she had been skeptical if his sleep was similarly haunted. His breath was quicker than hers, deeper, and he slept with his lips open, baring a row of even teeth that had become more yellowed with every passing day they had spent in their cell. Sometimes his eyelids twitched, and on even rarer occasions he rubbed at them.

But this was the first time the moonlight hit him, through a window, and she wished she could tell him how beautiful he was.

She had tried to speak to him once, when he was asleep so he wouldn't hear her croak, but when she tried the sound of her own voice had horrified her, and she had never tried again; he wouldn't want to hear it. His words were beautiful; they meant something to her. They made her feel like she could speak.

She had no words anymore that she could make, but she had words in her head, and he understood them. Most of them… some of them. The important ones, but not the ones she wanted to say to him.

So she watched him. He moved, and his eyelids tightened.

"No…"

He spoke. Neo listened.

"Mom… why…"

He often spoke in his sleep, but usually only a few words that didn't make sense. Still, she listened. He listened when she didn't have words, so she listened when he did. But no more words came.

She looked around the room. It smelled good. Or maybe it was Roman. He smelled wonderful. It had been so long since she had smelled something that reminded her of home, even if her memories were merely broken shards of a larger picture long shattered.

She had never slept this close to him, but she was glad she could. She was grateful he could understand her; she just wished she could use words to tell him how beautiful he was. She began to feel restless; her legs felt hot and her breath quickened by an almost imperceptible margin.

She should be sleeping. Just for another few hours. She closed her eyes and went to her memories.

Crisp laughter echoed by the chirping of birds.

Fingers dancing over white and black keys.

When she had bandaged Roman, the way she knew how to. How his skin had felt, and how beautiful his tattoos w-

No. She couldn't think about Roman. He was right here anyway, closer than ever, and thoughts would just make her hot, and keep her awake.

Memories. Flower fields. The ocean breeze. Her old voice speaking words. Russet speaking words. Flames and screams and fangs and-

No. No, no, no, no, no no no no no…

She stared at Roman, trying to claw her way away from the bad memories. Her heart beat faster. She felt a voice that wasn't there against her ear.

She tensed, upright in the bed. The room was dark but she could see the corners. No one was there. She thought of what Roman had said, about being a new Neo; maybe it was contradictory to that, or maybe it was part of letting the old Neo die, but either way: she needed release.

Neo was as careful getting out of the bed as Roman had been getting into it, spider-like as she clambered over him and onto the floor even as her injured leg throbbed in protest. Her heart was beating frantically against her ribs, but she couldn't distinguish whether it was from pain, fear, or anticipation. She took a last look at Roman, and then at the corners of the room, before she walked quietly back to the bathroom, squeezing between the small space Roman had left between the doorframe and the door.

She closed the bathroom door behind her and immediately proceeded to the medicine cabinet. She took a brief look at herself reflected in the glass; she could only see her face, but she took particular note of her eyes, one white and the other pink. She concentrated, on the _feeling_ of her eyes in her tiny skull, and the feelings, the _heat_ that came when she thought of Roman, and when she blinked and opened them, they were both a rosy pink.

She would learn to master this, whatever _this_ was; whatever power Roman had shown her, the power that had given her a name. She would learn how it worked, and what else she could make it do; how she could further bend the world to her will. Another time.

But right now release couldn't wait much longer. She threw open the medicine cabinet and procured a pair of small scissors, meant for trimming fingernails, but sharp. Scissors now in hand she collapsed against the wall, head hung and eyes closed. Her thoughts swam in dissonant, dizzying directions, from Roman's smile, to white and black keys, to Russet's claws against her flesh.

She closed her eyes. With one shaking hand she held her thigh, her fingers running over healed, raised scars, and with the other she caressed them with the tip of the scissors. She continued to stroke, to delay the inevitable, and focused an image of Roman in her head: his tall physique towering over her, emerald eyes glittering. She pressed…

The blade pierced her skin, and as ruby blood trailed down her inner thigh she parted her lips and grit her teeth, biting back a cry. She carved upwards, and gradually her grimace transitioned to a silent gasp as she opened the wound. The heat in her stomach was almost unbearable now; it felt like an ember was smoldering in her guts.

 _She remembered Russet at the end; how she had made him bleed. Even if her words had been taken, she would show him her pain in silence. She had taken everything from him, just like he had taken everything from her: First his hands…_

She made another incision, symmetrical to the first, and her flesh burned.

 _She had belonged to him, but at the end he had belonged to her: she had taken him apart piece by piece; even before they had escaped she had known exactly how she would deconstruct him. Roman had said there was nothing more gratifying, and he had been right…_

When she began incision number three she could feel the buzz throughout her entire body; her muscles were clenching, and her hands went pale and light as she carved yet another completely parallel wound into her thigh.

 _She had dropped the gunblade, as her hands had been shaking from the euphoria, before picking it up and continuing unabated. His desperate prayers were just fuel for her; every word would be remembered for future release._

 _Please_

 _Stop_

 _Sorry_

 _These words had all been hers, and now they were his. She had heard them through his lips. She had heard them as she carved trenchesintohisface-_

Halfway through the fourth cut she was ready, but she finished it anyway, topping it off so it measured up to the others but did not outshine them, exactly parallel as she threw her head back in sweet release.

Her eyes went wide, her muscles tightened and contracted as she opened her lips in a silent scream, airy gasps escaping to the ceiling as she shook and threw her head back. It burned; she could feel the blood leaking from her wounds as it scorched against the already-hot skin of her inner thigh. She dropped the scissors to the ground, and they clattered while her shaking hands found their way to her chest and gripped as she saw stars dance along the periphery of her vision.

She came back slowly; head buzzing and limbs throbbing. Her wounds were hot, but she let the blood run freely and unattended, as her mind was completely blank. She slumped against the wall and looked to the ceiling. She felt blissfully empty, cleansed. Her heart still beat harshly but would soon wind down to a gentle rhythm.

She could have stayed like that for hours; peaceful, breathing steadily against the wall, her mind empty and tranquil, but she didn't want Roman to worry. He probably would not wake before she did, but if she had to face sleep, she wanted to do so close to him. Even so, it was several minutes before she stood on weak feet and returned to the guest room. Her thigh burned and stung as she walked, but the pain was welcome; it distracted her from the memories.

She found Roman as asleep and oblivious as she had left him, and she was grateful; she knew he would have something to say about her release if he knew. As she settled in beside him she welcomed the pain of her wounds rubbing against the opposite thigh, and focused on their predictable, rhythmic throbbing as she followed it to sleep.

Roman was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes.

* * *

 **Twelve. Thousand. Words.  
Well, this one was long. Hope you brought something to read... oh, wait...**

 **Glad to be back and continuing this story. Let me know what you think in a review, because this twisted tale is just getting started.**

 **As an aside: who else is hyped for Volume 4? I'm seeing all these cosplayers busting out wicked renditions of the outfit redesigns for team RWBY; who knew there was this much talent in the FNDM?**

 **With lots of luv**

 **-Rampag3**


	9. Home (Part 1)

"Mom?"

Rays of pale light illuminated a familiar pink apron where the woman stood by the sink, her face obscured by a curtain of auburn hair. She didn't respond to his voice; he wasn't sure she had heard him.

"Mom…" he tried again, "Can… can I go to Cyril's house…?"

"Your uncle is looking forward to seeing you."

The woman's hands tightened on the edge of the sink.

"I forgot something there," he said, "I'll come back for dinner."

He wouldn't come back for dinner.

"He loves you very much."

The woman turned her head. Emerald, glittering eyes stared hard at him above a smattering of light freckles, and thin lips were set in a sneer.

"Daddy is gone," she chewed the words, "Your uncle is here for us now, so why don't you love him?"

"I-It's not that…"

She turned. Whatever he had planned to say next was lost to a sharp, stinging smack to his cheek. He bit down so he wouldn't cry out, or he might get another one. Or two.

She bent down to look at him, and even though he wanted to run he forced himself to look at his mother through eyes that stung with tears unwept. Her gaze pierced him like a poisoned blade, the wound only the foretaste.

"You will love this family."

She recited it, with blank eyes like she was talking not to her son, but to a mirror.

He heard the door opening from the next room, and a cold hand of dread crept up his spine, walking its fingers leisurely along the nape of neck.

"There you are, Zero."

He turned to see Friedrick Russet behind him, towering without his hat, clenching and unclenching one ungloved fist. The left cuff of his suit, ragged and from which no hand protruded, dripped blood to the floor. The hot liquid splattered against the kitchen floor, where it dotted Roman's legs with crimson blots.

Russet placed his remaining hand atop his head, chuckling and kneeling down to face the boy. Roman's limbs were petrified; he willed them to move, to fight back, to grab the violating hand and twist it so the bone within would pierce the skin with a grisly burst. A bead of cold sweat trailed down his forehead as the glove caressed his hair.

"You look… different, Roman," Russet crooned, "It suits him, don't you think, Zelena?"

His mother had returned to the sink, and from the corner of his eye, she didn't appear to be paying them any attention, even as Russet turned his tattooed head to look at her.

Roman threw his arms forward, batting Russet's hand away; his arms were weak, small and juvenile, and the flesh unmarked by muscle or ink. He took off at a run before the warden could respond, his youthful feet slamming against the floor.  
"Where are you going?" he heard Russet query nonchalantly, "How rude…"

He wasn't listening. Despite the breath heavy in his chest, his small body couldn't carry him fast enough away from the kitchen. Ahead, where he knew the door led to his mother's bedroom, there was only shadow. He hadn't heard anyone pursue him, but he was acutely aware of Russet nonetheless on his heels, armored feet landing casually behind him, closing in even as Roman pushed himself into a sprint.

But the shadows ahead only seemed to retreat from him, the hallway stretching and warping before his eyes, as it seemed he was running in place.

Chest heaving, he whipped his head around for an exit. The white door that led outside to the yard was his only choice to escape his pursuer and the sinister chuckling that accompanied him, and he dove for the knob, throwing his entire weight into his small shoulder and crashing against the door.

It crumpled against him, as if made of paper, and with a yelp he landed on a cold, metal floor, scraping his bare elbows. The curse that drew forth from his young lips was dissonant, its youthful pitch at odds with the mature, cynical fury it carried. He looked up, expecting the sun shining upon his family's modest yard.

Only there was no grass, and there was no sun. There were no unwatered, potted plants; no lonely swing set that seemed as isolated and corroded as he felt when he seldom visited it. Only the rusted, stained walls of The Maw stretched on before his panicked eyes.

He rose to his feet and continued running before Russet could catch him, the sounds of his strained, ragged breathing and heavy footfalls echoing off the halls; he pushed forward, and forward still, but the hall was endless. He passed rows of closed cell doors cast in shadow as voices began to scream from inside the cells, the very walls, and the stale air around him. Voices, desperate, hoarse, and smeared by the sloppy, blood-soaked hands of time howled and wailed around him.

" _Please! I have a family!"_

 _"I never said anything! I don't know what you're talking about!"_

" _Stop! Assassin, have mercy!"_

 _"Do your worst! Fuck you! Fuck the Circle! I'll see you in Hell!"_

He felt their words on the back of his neck, against his ears; they were like claws on his back as his legs threatened to give out beneath him. He passed cell after cell but the hall never ended, and he dared not look back, as he could still hear the click of armored shoes in the distance.

One cell far ahead was open, pale moonlight streaming through the crack in door, like a silver blade in the darkness. He pushed himself towards it, drawn to it like a moth to candlelight even as his muscles burned in anguish. The screams around him drove him onwards and forward until the door was before him, and he veered right and slipped his small body through the crack, pulled it closed with a resounding slam, and hit the cell floor on his hands and knees.

He heaved in ragged gasps; it felt like his lungs were filled with fire. The screaming was gone, and he knelt and rasped in absolute silence. Tears wet his cheeks. His fingers clenched as he looked around the cell.

The shattered moon of Remnant was visible through the vent in the ceiling, and its light shone upon a pair of mismatched pink and brown eyes. Neopolitan was hunched on the floor, fixing him with a blank stare, and in his current body her petite, skeletal frame was noticeably larger than his own.

"Neo…?" he wondered aloud, his youthful voice startling him even in the silence of the room.

She glanced to the door, but did not move. He turned to look; the door was opaque and rusted as ever, but just beyond, he could faintly perceive the click-clack of armored shoes on the floor. Approaching the cell.

"…Roman…?"

Russet's voice drifted, muffled, from down the hall outside, "Your mother made dinner… why did you run away?"

Roman looked around the cell, frantically searching for an exit, but finding none. There was only one way in, and one way out of this cage. Neo stayed still, one hand rested on her knee as Roman put his back against the wall.

"Your mother was so worried about you…" Russet continued. Roman could feel his clothes glued to his skin with sweat; he couldn't hide forever.

He would find them. They would suffer.

"Neo," he panted, holding back tears, "He's coming…"

"Good."

Neo's lips moved as she stared at him, eyes gleaming and unchanging. Her voice, his mother's voice, made Roman's blood run cold, flee his heart and pull against his skin as if he had been stabbed by a thousand frigid, hypodermic needles.

"It was about time you took one for the team anyway," she spoke from in front of him, from the walls, next to his ears and inside his head, "You wouldn't even be alive if it weren't for me."

"N-Neo…" he quaked. Russet's footsteps were louder now outside the cell.

" _Neo!?_ "

The girl held both hands to her cheeks as she repeated her name, twisting his mother's voice into a nasal, mocking snarl, "I saved you from Russet, I saved you from the Nevermore, I even swallowed that fucking key for you; least you can do is go choke on some dick for me, it's all you're good for…"

Roman gaped as Neo continued, staring unyielding blades into him as she smiled a crescent, manic slash.

"Russet, your uncle, Gio, the entire fucking Circle," she counted on her fingers, "Choking, choking, choking; _always_ choking, choking, choking…!"

She prattled on in a sing-song voice, completely oblivious as a Nevermore's shriek split the air. The cell shook, dust dislodging from the ceiling and showering them both as the moonlight was obscured by something large and black.

"Neo, please!" Roman cried, "I'm sorry! But-"

"You should go choke on Folly too while you're at it!"

Neo completely ignored he and the Nevermore both as it peered through the ceiling vent with two red, molten eyes. Roman clambered for purchase on the wall behind him as Neo rose to her feet; she didn't blink as the Nevermore screeched, drew back its head and razor beak, and threw it against the ceiling of the cell. Cracks spider-webbed from a single dent in the concrete.

"I'm the only reason you're free," Neo spread her hands, "I'm the only reason you're still breathing! And the only reason we're sleeping in a bed is because Folly thinks. You're. Cute."

The Nevermore dashed it's beak against the ceiling again and again; chunks of concrete rained and crashed around them as the ceiling was decimated, piece by piece as Neo closed in on Roman's shaking, hunched form.

"You wanted to leave me," she spoke in a monotone, "If I had left you… you would be fucking _dead_."

The ceiling exploded; shattered as if struck by the fist of a vengeful god, as the Nevermore reared its bony head and bellowed an ear-bleeding screech. Roman covered his ears, tears streaming down his face as the gargantuan fowl fixed him with a glare and drew back its beak.

Neo grinned a smile like frostbite. She raised her tiny hand, her middle finger and thumb poised to snap.

"Say 'hi' to Russet for me…" she said with a wink, "…in Hell."

She snapped her fingers, and the Nevermore drove its beak forward for the kill as he covered his eyes and screamed.

* * *

 **Vale, day 2**

Roman awoke not with a scream, but with the silence of clenched teeth and hitched breath. He gripped sheets, damp, as his heart thundered against his ribs. He beheld the room's modest decorum; a potted, plastic plant, the rays of light cast through the window, and though he knew he was safe in the sanctuary of a friend's abode, the nightmare had left an imprint upon his mind that was yet to fade.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

His breathing began to return to his control, but still he was averse to the thought of facing the day ahead of him. There was a lot he had to do now that he was back in Vale, and then there was the bed that he found himself laying in, alone. Waking and being greeted by sunlight felt better than he remembered.

So, he allowed himself several minutes to close his eyes and continue to calm his breathing as he lounged among the covers, his hair clean and weightless against the pillow, damp with sweat as it was. He heard the faint sound of Folly's voice from outside the guest room, but it was far too muffled and faint for him to catch anything. She spoke continuously; her voice was the only one he could hear, so she was either talking on her scroll, or to Neo, who had to be awake somewhere. Why was she upstairs in her apartment? She was usually booked morning until night with appointments most days.

The nightmare still leaving afterimages in his mind, Roman grit his teeth, pushed on his elbows and sat up, swinging his legs onto the floor and shivering from the burst of cold that accompanied leaving the covers' warmth. Still, it had The Maw's bedrolls beat.

His clothes were… _folded_ beside the bed, with his hat set atop his coat and Melodic Cudgel leaned against the night table where he had left it; probably Folly's handiwork, though it was unlike her to walk into a room where a guest was sleeping… or, Dust forbid, _fold clothes_. Nonetheless, he pulled his coat from the pile and dug into the pockets until he found the cigar tin and lighter and pulled the curtains aside on the window. He opened the glass a crack and took in the view; it wasn't much, just a few apartment buildings, one with a Beacon Academy flag hung from its banister, but it was Vale, it was home, and it was something to look at as he calmed his nerves. The cigar tin, to his distaste, held only two cigars, minus one as he lit it and breathed the smoke out the window. This was Folly's home after all; he might have been a criminal, but he wasn't devoid of manners.

As he sat on the bed and smoked, he ran through the list of what he had to get done, adding the purchase of additional cigars to the list; Russet had been a monster, but he had known good tobacco.

If Roman was to get anywhere, whether he had intended to hunt Giovane or not, he would need an ID; walking around Vale without one would be a very bad idea. He would also need one for Neo, and the both of them would need scrolls. Normally this would all be taken care of in a few hours with some help from the Circle, but until he knew whether to call the entire organization his enemy or just a few specific operatives, approaching them was out of the question; his conversation with Folly had called into question what he thought he knew of the situation.

Obtaining IDs and scrolls legally was also not possible for two reasons: it would take too long, and it would cost him lien that he didn't have, same as everything legal. The White Fang wouldn't help a human, and that meant there was only one option… he would have to go the Hong Zhao.

They had come from Mistral a few years ago, and as soon as they had hit Vale's streets, blood had run in rivers as soon as The Circle had pushed back. The Circle had a hold on most drug, weapons, and Dust trafficking operations in Vale, but the Hong Zhao were smugglers, and could acquire almost anything, for anyone, for the right price… but not for a Circle assassin. They would kill him on sight; slowly, and then hang his unrecognizable body from a street lamp.

There was only one advantage he could exploit; the Hong Zhao had honor. Unlike the Circle, who disposed of problems as soon as they even suspected of them, which he had now experienced firsthand, the Hong Zhao did not kill those that they did not know for certain were their enemies. Roman didn't see the point in pretending not to be a monster, as he found the Hong Zhao's honor code a pathetic denial of the selfish ruthlessness they shared with all criminals and killers, but in this situation, it could work in his favor; he was no longer a member of the Circle, and therefore the Hong Zhao were no longer his enemy.

Leaving Melodic Cudgel behind, however, was probably a good idea, even if it pained him. Striding up to a Hong Zhao smuggler, or many, as they hardly ever worked alone, cane in hand would only get him killed.

His cigar was burnt down to a nub and Folly was still talking outside the guest room, laughing frequently. He flicked the nub, still smoldering, onto the street below, hastily pulled on his pants and socks and went to join the land of the living.

The living room was clear, and it was immediately apparent that Folly's voice was coming from the bathroom, the door open halfway and allowing him to hear her clearly.

"…So he's talking such a big game about how he got his first tattoo when he was 14, by my mentor," he could hear her chuckling, "And I mean, he sat pretty well, but when it was done he just couldn't stop whining! I think he just likes to complain though; he's a good guy, especially for being in the Black Circle… um, ex-Black Circle, that is…"

"Folly!?" Roman called in to the bathroom.

"Oh! Dude!"

After a moment Folly pushed the bathroom door aside. Her skin was even more colorful than usual, dotted by pink stains that almost completely covered her latex gloves and black apron. She moved to brush a strand of hair from her brow but thought the better of it, and relocated her stained hand to the doorframe. The room smelled strongly of peroxide.

Before Roman could ask what she had been doing he saw Neo's bare feet kick off of a chair she had dragged in from the kitchen. As the girl moved a flash of creamy pink followed.

"Ta-daaa…" Folly sang, stepping aside to present an ecstatic Neopolitan, sections of her brunette hair bleached white, others dyed a strawberry pink. The girl beamed a wide, toothy grin, fluffing her freshly colored locks and striking a pose, wobbling briefly on her injured leg as Roman stared in surprise.

"You… made her hair…"

"…Get it!?" Folly stifled a giggle, "Neapolitan! Like the ice cream!"

"Yeah, I get it," Roman nodded, still studying Neo's new hair; it had also been combed and styled to swirl in a way that was reminiscent of a soft-serve cone.

"It doesn't look half bad, just-"

"Half-bad?" Folly rolled her eyes, "Gee, thanks. I think it looks pretty rad."

Folly looked back at Neo, who nodded assuredly, pouting playfully at Roman.

He sighed, "It actually looks great! Whose idea was this? And… I don't mean this the wrong way, but shouldn't you be…"

"Tattooing?" Folly chuckled, "The back piece took me about six hours, and then my four o'clock cancelled on me. Now, I _could_ have called in another client… or I could have just closed the shop for the day to play with Neo!"

Roman blinked.

"Did you just say your f-"

"She's been up for a while," Folly continued, gesturing to the girl who was fluffing her hair in the mirror, on her tiptoes with a grin on her face.

"She watched me do some work earlier, and let me tell you: The client _loved_ her, can you believe that? After my cancellation I showed her some pictures of ice cream, and well, we just kind of decided to do this thing."

"Okay…" Roman held up a hand, "That's wonderful, and Neo's hair looks just _fabulous_ ; seriously."

He looked pointedly at Neo with a brief grin.

"But did you say your four o'clock? I have important things that I need to get done."

Folly gawked with a cocked, waxed brow.

"Dude, it's 5:45 in the afternoon."

"What!?"

Despite his forceful exclamation of shock, Roman was hardly surprised that he had slept in; it had been months since he had taken a proper rest. Even so…

5:45. In the afternoon. Yet another advantage illegality possessed over legal activities was that they rarely had a specific time window, which would come in very handy since he had essentially slept through the day.

"I figured you needed your rest," Folly shrugged, "But Neo still doesn't have any clothes…"

Roman shook his head to center his thoughts.

"Before we go the mall, let alone the commercial district, I need to grab us some IDs. Some scrolls. It's probably going to take me the rest of the day, and besides…"

He looked past Folly, "Neo, how's your leg?"

Neo glanced at her wound and frowned.

"You know she can't answer you," Folly wondered.

"But I can understand her," Roman hurried, "She should wait a few days before walking too far. I can try and grab her some threads at a thrift store, but our mall trip will have to wait."

Folly bit her lip, "…You're not wrong. How about this: I go to the thrift shop while you go do… Black Circle things."

"You sure? That's your money."

Folly snorted, "I don't think thirty lien for a few shirts and underwear for a malnourished teenager is going to break me. You, on the other hand; do you have enough money for _scrolls_?"

Roman briefly recalled the exact amount of lien he had pilfered from Russet's office; minus the five or so lien he had spent on hot dogs, he had 495 lien.

"I have enough for IDs," he said, "Might have to settle for one scroll though…"

He briefly considered explaining that he would have to proceed into Hong Zhao territory, and that there was no guarantee that he would actually return from his mission. But the less Folly knew, the safer she was. As for Neo, he had done a lot for her, but the same logic still applied; the less connections she had to him the better for her, and the less she would worry.

"…It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Look, why don't you just write down your scroll number, and I'll message you? I'll come right back; and thanks for folding my clothes, by the way."

"...Me? Fold clothes?" Folly looked puzzled, "Are you even listening to yourself?"

Neo shuffled her feet.

"Was it you Neo?" he deduced, "Wow… Thanks!"

She shrugged, a pleased grin on her face.

Folly smiled at their exchange.

"Well, I should get going to the thrift shop; I'll write my number down so you can let me know when you're headed back."

"Thanks, will do."

Roman turned to leave but hesitated, turning back around to face a quizzical Folly.

"…Do you think," he pointed at his left eye, smudged with the traces of yesterday's mascara, "Do you think I could borrow some makeup?"

Folly nodded, "Now that you mention it, it was a good look for you. Come here."

* * *

The brisk, autumn dusk was perfect for a stylish designer coat, scarf and buckled gloves. It was also perfect for strolling down the street with a nice cane, and Melodic Cudgel's absence was at the forefront of Roman Torchwick's mind as he approached his destination. The streets of the industrial district were barren in comparison to most of Vale, featureless concrete taking the place of rich red bricks and holographic signs, but the occasional tree planted along the sidewalk served to lightly shower his path with leaves red and brown.

He was approaching a rotary, dominated by a stone fountain statue of General Lagune, water bubbling from a pistol clutched in the figure's left hand. Cars drove in circles, entering and exiting the rotary, and Roman had to wait until a driver stopped before he crossed to the circular sidewalk with a tip of his hat.

In contrast to the unassuming buildings flanking it, his destination was a massive, gaudy structure directly off of the rotary's south entrance. Steps led up past crimson pillars lined with golden filigree. A twisting serpent, solid gold, coiled around the sign for the place, written in both old, East Mistralian script, and the language that people still actually used.

 _The Golden Rose_ : _East Mistralian Restaurant_.

Roman paused on the steps, staring up at two ornate glass doors; both gangs had their fronts, but where the Black Circle preferred nightclubs and warehouses, the Hong Zhao usually set up shop in restaurants and hotels. The cops were well aware of most Hong Zhao operations, but they usually turned a blind eye; they were always legitimate businesses, making money by providing lodging or foreign cuisine, but Roman knew how to access the less… _legal_ services the gang provided.

He just hoped that he survived the encounter. He was unarmed, but a warrior was never completely bereft of their aura.

His laugh was humorless; he had been back in Vale for all of 24 hours and already he was gambling with his life yet again. It was good to be back.

Climbing the steps and pushing through the doors he was greeted by the aroma of fried seafood and spicy sauce; it blanketed the room, from the dining hall down the steps in front of him up to his nose. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad after all.

He started down the steps and flicked his eyes from side to side, taking in his surroundings without any movement of his head; the dining hall was wide and open, lined with booths and tables that were for the most part occupied, and crimson, ornamental drapery. Ancient statues, suits of armor, and small, twisting trees with pink leaves stood in glass cases among the tables. Two levels up, a shadowed balcony ran the circumference of the hall, and in the darkness men in black suits watched over the hall, visible only by the crimson ties and glasses every one of them wore.

Hong Zhao enforcers; the gloves they wore were, like Roman's own, to keep their tattoos hidden from civilian eyes. The similarly crimson blades at their hips seemed to wink—

"Hello! Welcome to the Golden Rose!"

Roman nearly jumped as he swiftly turned his attention to a young hostess, a scroll in one manicured hand and her hair in a raven bun with strands that tumbled onto the shoulders of an emerald, silk dress.

"Ah! Yeah, table for one," he managed, and the hostess nodded and led him to a round, unoccupied table past a few customers already happily consuming their savory smelling food. He cursed his own nerves silently.

Smooth, Roman.

"Our house special today is roast goose," she informed. Roman was handed a menu as he took a seat, hoping that the scarf around his neck still concealed his Ursa tattoo.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?"

He almost ordered a glass of Amberwood whiskey before realizing the hostess would need to see his ID: the ID that he didn't have. All things considered, he might as well get down to business.

"That's okay; where's the VIP lounge?" he cast his most charming smile at the young hostess, who's features betrayed nothing.

"It's in the back," she grinned sympathetically, "Unfortunately it's booked at the moment; did you have a reservation?"

"Ahhhh; No, no I didn't," Roman sighed, "I was just told to come and see it for myself; that it's one of the best parties in town."

"Whoever told you sounds like a smart person," the hostess responded without missing a beat, "Do you remember their name?"

Roman pretended to think about it as he reached for the pronunciation in his memory.

"Let's see… I think it was…" he glanced at the hostess, "Chao Yin."

Her eyes flashed briefly.

"I think he's in today, actually," she smiled warmly, "I'll tell him you're here…?"

"Roman," he nodded, "Just Roman."

The hostess curtsied, and headed off, her eyes remaining on him until her head turned too far around.

Chao Yin didn't exist. Or maybe he did. It didn't matter; all that did was that his name was the primary method one used to tell the Hong Zhao of their intention to order more than the all-you-can-eat chicken platter and a scorpion bowl.

So Roman sat patiently as the hostess swayed her hips into the bustle of the restaurant; watched as she appeared from the crowd ascending the stairs to the upper level and disappearing through a set of circular doors flanked by two Hong Zhao enforcers, their still forms barely perceptible against the scenery.

Only then did Roman roll back his shoulders and release the breath he had been holding. So far, so good, but he was in hostile territory and right under their noses: 'so good' wasn't going to cut it if he planned on leaving alive.

His scarf hadn't fallen too low, had it? Not likely, he had specifically requested that Folly place his neck Ursa lower and closer to the collarbone as to be more easily concealable. He pulled his scarf higher anyway, where it quickly fell back to its original position, and tried to focus on a calming memory.

There wasn't much; reflecting on it, he realized that most of his life had been comprised of very stressful situations, each one following the other like an uneven line of toppling dominoes: a childhood that still haunted him to the current day led to digging for food in trash bins, which led to him eventually learning that the only difference between murder and assassination was getting paid for it. Starvation, robbery, arrests, combat training; the most relaxed he had ever felt was when he had lay among sheets soaked in spilled whiskey and sweat, staring at the ceiling fan with burning eyes and smoking a cigar while the woman he had met only a few hours previously lay next to him, a needle full of black sap to her arm as each of them prepared for another round in their own, special way.

But when he dug deeper, scoured his memories for true joy, he thought only of Neo. It was no exaggeration to say that of all his stressful, painful memories the ones involving Neo were among the most nightmarish. But when she had smiled at him…

Roman Torchwick didn't believe in miracles, but when a child so frail, one he had thought so broken, covered in the blood of her tormentor had smiled at him with such purity as her tiny shoulders rocked in silent jubilation, he had thought that for the first time in years that if a child who had known nothing but darkness could find even the dimmest of lights, then maybe one day, he could too.

"Roman?"

The voice of the hostess brought him back to reality, and again he suppressed an exclamation of shock as he returned to the bustle of the dining hall and the unflapped features of the young woman awaiting his reply.

"Hello!" he managed, "Any word?"

"Yes, Chao Yin will see you now," she nodded politely, "If you would follow me…"

Roman rose from the table and followed the sway of the hostess' snug-fitting dress. She deftly sidestepped any patrons or wait staff, including a group of four enforcers heading for a distant table full of boisterous patrons, and only Roman seemed to notice the short, red blades concealed within their sleeves.

The hostess led them up a flight of red-carpeted steps, to the same circular door he had disappeared through earlier, and the set parted before her as she proceeded forward; the door closed behind them as they entered a lavish lounge, crimson walls and furniture beset with golden filigree. Four more enforcers stood in the corners, each underneath curling trees from which small, pink petals fell to their shoulders and to the floor. A gently arched bridge led across a small pond in the center of the room, in which long fish with scales the color of setting suns swam beneath pink petals that rested atop the water.

VIP lounge, indeed.

Roman whistled.

"Nice digs!"

The hostess simply smiled.

"You can tell Chao Yin," she laughed, "He'll be with you shortly."

With a parting curtsy, the hostess exited the lounge, briefly exposing the din of the dining hall as the doors opened and closed behind her, leaving Roman alone.

He watched her leave; something seemed off about the situation, and in his experience that something meant that he should have been running like hell at this point. But he needed scrolls. He needed an ID, a fake one at the very least.

"Okay…"

Behind him, still focused on the door he heard the telltale clicking of four guns arming, and the hair on the back of his neck rose along with his comprehension of the situation, and just how wayward of a turn it had taken.

"Oh…" he murmured, "For fuck's sake…"

He turned back to the lounge slowly, deliberately, to four Hong Zhao enforcers leveling submachine guns directly at his head, and raised his gloved hands above his hat.

"So…." He forced a laugh, "Um… Which one of you is Chao Yin?"

No response. Predictable.

The door opened with a creak behind the enforcers, and the men moved aside as a fifth, female figure strode into their midst. Their guns were ready to tear through Roman's aura in a quad-barreled barrage the moment he moved. The woman stopped in the middle of the men, eyeing Roman up and down several times with obsidian eyes accented by a distinctive tattoo of a lizard on her right cheekbone.

Not a strand of hair was out of place on her head, all of it drawn back into a ponytail tied headachingly tight. Her attire was the same black suit and crimson tie as the enforcers that flanked her, and her jacket's right sleeve hung empty behind a mechanized prosthetic limb protruding from her shoulder completely adorned with depictions of flowers and snakes. Mechanical fingers tapped on the hilt of a sheathed, curved katana-style blade at her hip as a self-assured grin split across her face.

Roman, his hands still raised, indicated the woman with a finger.

"…Chao Yin?"

The woman chuckled.

"You take a wrong turn at Lagune square, Circle rat?" she spoke with an accent not from Vale, "Or are you just stupid?"

"Wh-Um, what? What are you talking about!? I don't even know what a circle or a square or whatever is! I was just informed that if I asked for Chao Yin…"

Roman put on the best act he could, and for a few seconds the woman enjoyed his performance with suppressed chuckles before she pointed a prosthetic finger at her own neck.

"Remove your scarf," she said.

He felt the color drain from his already-pale face before he sucked in half the air in the room through clenched teeth.

"Are you sure? Look, I wear this thing for a reason; I have this _nasty_ burn on my neck from working in a Dust mine as a kid and-"

"Remove," the woman interrupted, still grinning, "Your fucking scarf, rat."

The enforcers stepped forward as one, bringing the barrels of their weapons a foot closer to Roman's face. Given the choice between being riddled with bullets or being subjected to whatever torture the Hong Zhao would inflict on a Black Circle operative before stringing said operative up by their ankles from a street lamp, the preferable choice would have been bullets. It was for this reason that Roman instantly regretted slowly pulling the scarf from his neck and letting it fall to the ground, the moment after he did it.

He shrugged his shoulders and offered a forced, worried laugh to the observing Hong Zhao as the woman clapped her gloved left hand against her right prosthetic, her grin widening until the whites of her teeth were on full display.

"You have the honor," she said, "Of being the dumbest Black Circle rat to try and scurry your way to my brother since I arrived in this filthy city."

"Is your brother Chao Yin?" Roman asked, "Because in that case, you're probably right."

The woman giggled.

"There is no Chao Yin, idiot."

The smile dropped from her face immediately as she turned to the enforcer to her left and jerked her head in Roman's direction.

"Take him to the basement."

That didn't sound good.

"Hey! Wait a m-"

The enforcers were upon him, two of them taking hold of his arms and the other two pressing guns into his back as the woman turned and left the room. He supposed he could have protested as they forced him after her into another luxurious room, past the furniture and ancient weaponry on display and down a set of twisting red stairs.

He could have even begged, if he'd been willing to sacrifice the amount of dignity required, but even as the stairs ended and the Hong Zhao coerced him through a wooden door and into a concrete cellar his thoughts went to Neo.

The enforcers walked him through the room, through the darkness, into a corner occupied by a single wooden chair lined with buckles and straps, the nearby table laden with nausea-inducing implements of pain, and Roman thought of what Neo would do if he died here. He thought of her face when she would find out; how it would twist, silent, in sorrow and agony. There was a chance that her tacit smile and big, bright eyes, buried from the world for so long, would be entombed once again under the weight of mourning, and as the Hong Zhao shoved him into the chair, not even bothering to fasten the straps around his limbs as they pressed their guns to his head, he knew he had to survive this, no matter what it took.

He could not abandon her; not like this.

The woman knelt in front of him on one knee, drawing her blade with the ominous sound of sharpened metal. It was crimson, iridescent and flawless under the solitary light from the center of the room, curved gracefully like a reed in a gentle breeze, and held close enough to Roman's bare neck to draw blood. The woman's mechanical limb held it perfectly in place, unmoving, even as one corner of her mouth lifted in a predatory grin.

"You have one minute," she said, "One minute to explain to me, in detail, exactly why you're here, and who sent you. If you can accomplish that, without me having to remove any limbs, you're going to answer every question I have, clearly, and if I don't like what I hear I take you apart: knuckle by knuckle, joint by joint, and limb by limb, until I do."

Sweat glued a lock of hair to Roman's slick temple.

"Sh-shouldn't be a problem, actually," he tried to wear his best winning smile, but in the current situation it wavered on his face as more of an uncomfortable, forced grimace.

"Oh, where do I begin? W-well, it starts a couple months ago…"

The woman snorted, flicking her gaze to one of the men holding a gun to Roman's hat.

"Just like that… And they say the Black Circle values loyalty."

Roman forced a laugh into the chorus of mocking chuckles around him.

"I know! Actually, I'm glad you brought that up, because the loyalty you've heard about, more precisely the lack thereof, is exactly why I'm here."

For the first time since Roman and the woman had been introduced, she looked genuinely caught of guard. The men were once again silent as her scowl receded, and the lizard tattoo on her face twisted as she lifted a perplexed, waxed and plucked eyebrow. He couldn't afford to waste this chance.

"They screwed me over," he continued quickly, "I'm not Black Circle anymore, I actually just busted out of The Maw, if you can b-"

"Bullshit!" the woman hissed. She stood quickly, briefly removing her blade from the side of Roman's neck before swiftly relocating it with a stab that halted a hair's breadth from his Adam's apple.

"No one's escaped from The Maw in decades; do you take me for a fool, rat!?"

"Well, you _did_ say you'd start cutting things off as soon as you didn't like what you heard."

He tried to ignore the blade at his throat, forcing himself to meet the woman's eyes.

"Here we are though, you're clearly displeased, and all my fingers are still attached."

A vein visibly pulsed in the woman's forehead; her eyes bored into his own like molten steel. Still, her blade did not move.

Black Circle training wasn't just showy counters and hand-to-hand bone breaking techniques; it was pathological lying, manipulation, and control of the situation through any means necessary. An operative was never unarmed, because even without their cane, with limbs bound, they still had their words, and right now those words would decide Roman Torchwick's life.

"So, either _you're_ the one bullshitting _me_ …" he continued, "Or, you know that what I'm saying is true, and you're just now realizing that not only am I _ex_ -Black Circle, and that I'm _not_ here looking for blood like you assumed, but that if I was…"

As much as he could without drawing his own blood, Roman tilted his gaze towards the woman, locking her smoldering eyes.

"You'd be facing down the only man in all of Remnant to ever escape The Maw, and if your opponent was strong enough to kill his way out of Hell and halfway down the map, then you're either the woman who'll stop him… or you're nothing but another obstacle in his way."

He let her digest his words, unmoving. Only the light reflected from the woman's eyes betrayed their subtle movements; she was studying his face. Several seconds passed in complete silence before her grin returned, her shoulders bouncing with light chuckles.

"You have some balls on you, rat; talking to me like that," she said, "Let's see how long it takes you to scream while I remove them; strap him in-"

"Bai! What is going on down here!?"

The woman's eyes widened at the sound of the deep, masculine voice from behind her for a split-second before she rolled them, muttering as she turned around and lowered her blade.

"Nothing, brother," she spoke, "Just a little… torture."

"We went over this; we clear every guest with one another before any action is taken. Every. Guest."

The woman, Bai, moved aside as her brother approached; the first thing Roman noticed about him was that he was at least seven feet tall. Unlike the last man of that size he had witnessed, Top Dog, this particular man mountain was cleaned up, with a full beard that was trimmed and groomed, and dark hair slicked impeccably back. He wore an expensive black vest paired with an immaculate white dress shirt and the crimson tie that identified him as Hong Zhao. Two black leather gloves covered his massive hands, balled into fists as he crossed his arms and faced his much smaller sister with a scowl.

"He's no _guest_ , Hei," Bai spat, sheathing her blade, "Just look at his neck! You should be proud of Lian, she noticed this Circle filth trying to slip in right underneath our noses!"

"I am proud of Lian; it's only because she _notified_ me, which you _failed_ to do, that I found out we had a guest at all."

"Are you ignoring the _Ursa_ on his neck!?"

"Are you ignoring your common sense? If the Circle wanted us dead, the assassin would be among our ranks, poisoning drinks, not walking in through the front door, unarmed, and dropping Chao-Yin's name."

Bai growled, whirling on the men still surrounding Roman. She stood, both fists clenched and her face flushed red. She didn't speak. Roman had to keep from laughing as her features contorted in fury and humiliation.

"…Family squabbles? Is this a bad time? Because I can wait outside…"

"Shut up!" She hissed before refocusing on her men, "Stand down; let… let him up."

The weapons surrounding him slowly retreated, the enforcers wordlessly stepping back and away from the chair. Only then did Roman rise, dusting himself off, cracking his neck from side to side, and ignoring the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"If you have to go risking your life coming to us instead of asking the Circle for whatever it is you need," The man said, "Then I'm inclined to believe your story about being stabbed in the back, mister…?"

"Roman Torchwick; former Black Circle operative. Dashing, daring rogue always."

Bai rolled her eyes as the large man nodded.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," he grunted, "Hei Xiong the Second, but you can call me Junior; everyone does."

"Aren't you a little old to have a name like 'Junior'?" Roman wondered aloud as Bai glared daggers at him once again.

"You little shit," she hissed, metal hand on her blade.

"Calm down Bai," Junior thrust a hand in front of his sister before she could draw her weapon, "So, Torchwick, if you'll follow me up the stairs we can get to business. Bai will follow you, and if it turns out that you _are_ the world's dumbest Black Circle operative… she can do whatever she wants with you."

"That won't be a problem," Roman tipped his hat to the seething Bai Xiong as he followed Junior out of the basement, back towards the way they had come. As they walked he was mindful of the large canister that was now visible dangling from Junior's belt behind him. Bai signaled her enforcers to disperse and took up position behind Roman, following closely.

"One wrong move and you're dead, rat," she murmured.

Roman sighed, just loudly enough for her to hear him.

Junior led them back up the red stairs and into the lavish chamber they had passed through so hastily before, and this time without four men dragging him to what he had presumed would be his end Roman took a look around at the scenery: the room was spacious, with golden statues encased in glass placed strategically against the red walls. Two large, L-shaped couches that surrounded a low-set square table dominated the center. From an opening in the table there twisted a narrow tree that canopied the couches in pink petals, and on one of the couches sat two girls who watched the approaching group with two sets of identical, lime green eyes.

As they drew near it became obvious the girls were identical twins; their interchangeable milky white skin, black, straight hair, unreadable frowns and childlike proportions made them almost resemble two expensive, porcelain dolls. The girl on the right, wearing a red dress, averted her eyes as Roman sat across from them, fidgeting with something in her hands while her twin, in white, watched him intently.

Junior was the next to sit, adjacent to the twins while Bai leaned a hip on the edge of the couch, crossed her decorated mechanical arm over her sleeved one, and scowled at Roman. Though his heart was still beating from their earlier encounter, he refused to appear intimidated.

"Miltia," Junior spoke, and the twin in red turned her head.

"Give the man his scarf," he said firmly but not unkindly as he gestured to Roman across from them, "And Melanie: make sure you and your sister are ready for training. We'll begin after this."

The twin in white nodded as the twin in red, Miltia, carefully slid Roman's scarf across the table to him, quickly folding her hands across her lap after the deed was done. As Roman reached for, retrieved, and donned his scarf Bai watched him the entire time with an unwavering glare.

Junior reached under the table, Melanie and Miltia both hopped down from the couch, and still Bai's eyes were like stakes embedded into Roman's skull. He returned her undivided attention in kind, folding his gloved fingers and deliberately eyeing her up and down several times.

"How much did that arm cost?" he goaded, "Did you lose it in a bar fight? Or did you just cut it off yourself so you could get a fancy one?"

Bai pushed off the couch, startling Junior and stopping the twins in their tracks.

"Shut up, you filth!"

"Hey! I'm just genuinely curious!"

"You'll be genuinely dead! _Shut!_ _Up!_ "

"Both of you!" Junior placed two expensive looking glasses on the table, followed by a pitcher of strong-smelling liquor, "Let's keep our personal feelings out of business."

He nodded to the twins, who left the room as Bai circled the couches, arms crossed. Two glasses were poured, and Roman took the one offered to him gratefully, sipping its contents in tandem with the large man across from him who had saved him from what would have likely been a slow, painful demise.

Immediately Roman recognized the pungent liquor as expensive Atlesian Vodka; Junior had good taste in alcohol.

"So, Torchwick," Junior began, "I highly doubt you came here just to be tied to a chair in the basement, especially if what you say about being betrayed by the Black Circle is true. So tell me what is it you need, and I'll see if we can work out a solution."

"Straight to business, then," Roman took another sip of vodka, trying not to grimace as the liquid burnt his throat, "I can respect that.

"I just arrived back in Vale; I need two scrolls, and an ID with a permit for a weaponized cane. I also would like a pack of pre-rolled, Pegasus cigars, raspberry flavor… and any information the Hong Zhao have regarding a certain Black Circle underboss named Giovane Verde."

Junior nodded, unfazed.

"A fairly standard request," he said, "We can have you walking out of here with everything you asked for if you can make me a sufficient offer."

"Anything you want to know about the Circle, ask away," Roman grinned, "I know everything: Operations, hideouts, dead drops, patrol routes…"

He trailed off as Junior held up a hand, "Normally that would be worth something, but if you need information on Giovane Verde, then you don't have the one thing that interests me."

"Gio was my boss; I answered to him directly, and he was the one who fucked me over. I don't know why, but after I leave here, I'm going to rip this city apart until I find him, and before I bleed him dry, I just might ask him."

Junior was thoughtful as he sipped his vodka.

"We were onto him, but we lost the trail about three months ago; a bunch of dead Black Circle operatives washed up at the docks, and it wasn't our work; they were poisoned with black sap. The ones we could trace all worked for Giovane, but the man himself vanished; his account disappeared and all his known underlings were among the dead. Unless you can tell me something about that, your information is worthless."

Roman didn't respond, not at first. Even in the little Junior had shared, he had found another piece of the puzzle; he just wasn't yet sure where it fit.

"Three months… that's when I was sent to The Maw…"

Junior's eyes widened, "The Maw…? You escaped?"

"I still think it's bullshit," Bai scoffed.

"Think what you want, just remember that a bullhead crashed at the docks yesterday, but no corpses were found."

Roman didn't wait for the woman to respond, as he was much more interested in the implications of what he had just discovered: Giovane was cleaning house, there was no question about that.

He also wondered how many of the dead operatives he had known, and if he had shared a drink or a smoke with any of them at any point. Some of them… some of them he had probably known their names.

"It doesn't make sense," he said before Junior could offer an opinion, "Giovane was covering his tracks from something; he had all those operatives killed, but he sent me all the way to The Maw."

"It doesn't make sense," Junior agreed, "It also doesn't _matter_ to me, but if you were to find him, or find out _why_ he was covering his tracks so diligently, that would."

"Give me what I asked for and I'll bring you Giovane's head, tusks included," Roman growled, "Just don't ask for him alive, because that's not happening."

Junior shook his head, "As long as you ask him everything he knows first, but I can't just hand over hijacked scrolls, and much less with a weapon permit; it's going to be two-thousand lien, and then another fifty for the cigars."

Roman stared silently for a moment.

"I have four hundred," he offered.

"Ha!" Bai laughed, "I'll make you a deal; you let me cut off your hands and your left nut, and we'll call it even."

Roman glanced at Bai's smirk wordlessly before meeting Junior's grimace.

"Assuming we're just letting your sister's attitude slide at this point, I do have something that might be worth a lien or two."

Bai tensed as he reached into his coat pocket and set the bag of nondescript white pills he had pilfered from Friedrick Russet's medicine cabinet upon the table, to a lukewarm reception.

"What are those? Migraine meds?" Junior asked, unimpressed.

"I have no idea, but they're probably illegal, and therefore valuable; I stole them on my out of The Maw, while my partner was dismembering the former warden, slowly."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever rat."

Bai snatched the bag from the table, appearing next to Roman quicker than was necessary, and withdrew a single pill with meticulous precision. Pinching the unknown substance between two metal fingers, she gave it a deliberate sniff, followed by a careful lick.

Both men were silent as the woman mashed her lips together, eyebrows knitting in concentration.

"Atlesian," she finally spoke, "I can taste the runoff from the ice; cave distilled and refined. This is…"

She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Roman briefly before facing her brother.

"This is Krave," she said, her words heavy.

Roman raised an eyebrow almost in unison with Junior.

"You're gonna have to explain that one to me, sis," the man grunted.

"Atlesian combat cocktail," Bai explained, avoiding Roman's eyes in direct contrast to their earlier encounters, "Atlas developed it as a combat enhancement for their soldiers and Hunstmen ten years back, but they got hooked on it and the project was tossed. Likely this is a knockoff strain, but it's probably some of the only Krave in Vale."

There was a silence.

"Get it to the lab," Junior ordered, "Reverse engineer it and make the Hong Zhao rich, Bai; we're about to corner the market."

"You mean…" Bai gripped the bag in her metal fist and tilted her head at her brother, " _I'm_ about to corner the market."

The woman gave one more lingering glance at Roman, this one stoic in comparison to her previous displays, and left the room with a brisk stride and a single, dignified flip of her ponytail.

The first thing Junior did after sighing and muttering something inaudible was pull out a customized, golden scroll and type a message. Roman sipped at his vodka impatiently as he waited for the man to finish; the liquor was beginning to hit him with more force than he anticipated, but he was determined not to look like someone who couldn't hold his drinks when he was dealing with a man who was probably one of the highest ranking Hong Zhao in Vale.

"You'll have to forgive Bai," Junior sighed, gently placing his scroll on the table, "She can be a little bloodthirsty; even if the Black Circle is our enemy, she should have heard you out, or at least let me know we'd taken you in before dragging you down to her dungeon."

"I understand," Roman waved away the apology, even while he breathed an internal sigh of relief now that the woman was no longer in the room, "You two always argue like that though?"

"My sister and I have… different visions about the future of the Hong Zhao," Junior attended to his beverage before continuing, "Between you and me, Torchwick, I could care less how many Grimm tattoos you have; the fact is that blood in the streets is bad for business. Neither the Hong Zhao, nor the Circle will survive if we keep butchering each other, so I say: Let the Circle run the drugs, get their hands dirty and draw the heat while the Hong Zhao do what we do best: Help the people where the law and the Huntsmen won't. Information, protection, money; whatever they need."

He took another swig.

"Bai… she just wants prosperity for the Hong Zhao, no matter how many drugs we have to push, and no matter how many of our men have to die to make sure that happens. I don't agree with her… but I can't stop her; she's family, and maybe if you get to Giovane and take your revenge, you'll save me the trouble along the way. Maybe then the Circle will collapse, Bai can stop pushing drugs, and the Hong Zhao will be free to pursue more… legitimate ventures."

Roman nodded, and took a drink in unison with Junior; at this point the fate of the Circle didn't concern him either, as long as Giovane Verde lost his life and he was the one to take it. In a way, he felt like he understood Bai more than her brother; whatever it took to keep Neo and himself alive, he would do it, no matter what it was.

Before he could offer Junior his opinion, the twins returned to the chamber with the sliding of a door, each girl carrying black, unmarked boxes. The girl in white, Melanie, knelt and presented a square box to Roman, her face beset with the traces of a disdainful sneer. After he took the box from her small hands she rose, bowed, and her sister, Miltia, knelt and presented a much larger rectangular box which Roman found when he received it was much lighter than it appeared.

Both girls received a nod from Junior before they left as silently as they had arrived, Melanie taking the lead on the way out of the room.

"They yours?" Roman asked, placing the larger box on the couch beside him.

Junior shook his head.

"No, but they are my responsibility," he sighed, "I took them in when they had nowhere else to go. I'm teaching them to fight, so they can be useful."

Roman was hit with brief spell of déjà vu.

Junior nodded to the box in Roman's hands, "Go ahead and open it; should be two scrolls and the cigars you asked for."

Roman did as instructed and verified the box's contents; true to Junior's words, Miltia and Melanie had delivered exactly two, factory-stock scrolls and a tin of Pegasus raspberry luxury cigars.

He selected and examined one of the scrolls, marked with a sticky note that read '328-7189' in hand-written script. "What are the specs on these?"

"They're hard-reset, custom configured by our techs," Junior explained, "You can turn them on, enter your own information at your leisure and it will show up legitimate in any local databases, just don't make any typos; if you screw up they're a pain in the ass to hack again. As for your weapon permit: text the number on that note when you've set up your scroll, and you'll have an open-carry permit for a weaponized cane registered with the Vale Police Department in less than twenty-four hours, I'll see to it personally."

Roman whistled; despite his prior opinions on the Hong Zhao, he was impressed.

"I think I'll leave the box with you," he said, depositing his recently acquired goods into the pockets of his coat, "Or… boxes?"

Junior nodded to the larger, rectangular box beside Roman, still untouched.

"You're going after our common enemy," he said, "You'll need a weapon, and someone with your skills can make better use of it than any of my men."

His curiosity piqued, Roman popped the lid off of the box, revealing a folded, lace parasol. He extracted the object from the box gently, but his caution was unneeded; one touch, even with gloves on, was enough to verify the high-quality materials used to construct it. The intricate, translucent lace appeared flimsy, but it was hard to the touch: the subtle, glossy sheen was a coating of meticulously refined Dust woven into the fibers, and the boning was sturdy and shaped with attentive craftsmanship. The curved handle was inlayed with two small, nigh imperceptible dials and a large pink button, and upon that observation there was no longer any doubt in Roman's mind about what the beautiful umbrella's true purpose was.

"The weapon of a Black Circle operative," Junior nodded, "Probably a woman's, but it's better than going after the Circle unarmed."

"This is... one of the finest weapons I've ever seen," Roman admitted, "Who did this belong to? How did you get this?"

"I've had it for years," Junior answered, "Since I left Mistral; not sure who the original owner was, but in my humble opinion the Circle craftsmen don't make weapons like that anymore."

"And you're just giving it to me?"

"That's the thing: No one's willing to pay me what it's really worth. Pierce Verde's heart with it though, and it'll have done me more good than it ever has sitting in a glass case in my bedr-"

Both men jumped as Roman, in an effort to expand the umbrella, withdrew a long, thin blade from within the shaft of the weapon. He sat on the couch, holding the shaft of an expanded, armored umbrella in one hand, a narrow, pointed blade attached to its handle in the other, and extremely grateful that Bai Xiong was currently somewhere else, synthesizing a bag of knockoff Atlesian drugs so she was unable to swiftly decapitate him.

"You think…" Roman eyed a tense Junior Xiong, "You think I could take the box for this one?"

* * *

 **Now for the Goliath in the room: My apologies for yet another long wait. The reasons for the delay were many, but foremost among them:**

 **-I moved again. This time the arrangement is far more permanent, so I hope to reestablish my writing routine and get right back to it.**

 **-Battlefield 1 came out. I have no excuses.**

 **Given the delay I decided to split this chapter into two parts, and the next should be releasing in a much shorter timeframe than usual.**

 **Now for a few shoutouts:**

 **-Volume 4 has been out and it's pretty awesome so far; a lot of much needed world building and expansion, as well as screen time for some of the characters that have been mentioned or those we've wanted to see more of.**

 **-THEY PUT ROMAN AND NEO IN RWBY CHIBI. YES. I CAN DIE HAPPY. I WON'T BECAUSE I NEED TO FINISH THIS STORY. BUT YES.**

 **-Rampag3**


	10. Home (Part 2)

By the time Roman arrived back at Wildebeast Ink the night had almost fully consumed Vale, as it had taken much longer to start back from the Golden Rose than he had initially anticipated. The streets growing dark were the least of his problems, as he was used to slinking around at night. However, as dark had fallen, so too had the amount of pedestrians to hide amongst as they made for their homes.

The Atlesian vodka had also hit his out-of-practice alcohol tolerance harder than he was used to, and the walk several miles back through the city, while carrying the box with the umbrella inside it he did not possess a permit for, had seemed like it was never going to end.

So when he walked, or rather, stumbled to the door of Folly's shop, relief flooded his tired, buzzing muscles when he found it unlocked.

He stepped inside the shop, and immediately he knew he was being watched. The observer was making no effort to hide herself, as Roman found out when he turned to the waiting room table and found Folly Rosenwood eyeing him from above a can of beer at her lips.

"Folly!" Roman attempted to sound enthusiastic, but it came out sounding more like an exasperated sigh of relief, "I didn't know you drank in your own shop."

Folly put down her bottle, and just from her movements Roman could tell that he was not the only one slightly intoxicated in the room.

"Why didn't you text me?" Folly demanded with a slur, "Did you get your scrolls or whatever? Are they in that box?"

Well, maybe more than _slightly_.

"Oh this?" Roman laughed, "No no that's different; it, uh... didn't really go as planned-"

"So you didn't get them?"

"No I did! I just have to set them up in the morning, I'm sorry, Folly I have had a day, let me tell you…"

Folly's eyes narrowed as she examined Roman with an almost comical level of drunken scrutiny.

"Are you drunk…?" she wondered, lips curling into a grin.

Roman chuckled, "Probably not as much as you are."

"Ha! You're drunk too!"

Folly got up from behind the table, finished her beer in one swig and proceeded to balance her way to her shop's door.

"I guess I'm just like, glad that you're back," she explained as she fumbled with a pair of keys in her pocket, "I got _really_ worried for a little b-Wait! Did you go the bar!?"

"Um, no; I got the scrolls-"

"Roman Torchwick!" her face stretched wide in a toothy smile, "You should have brought me too if you were going to the bar!"

"I…" Roman paused as he gathered his thoughts, "It's a long story. Folly, how many have you had?"

"Not that many, _actually_ ," Folly held up a finger and pushed gently on Roman's chest, "I went out and bought some of that whiskey you like, and when you didn't come back I tried some but it was _really_ strong, so I chased it with a Schnee Ice, or two…"

"You have Amberwood whiskey…?" Roman shook his head, "Wait, wait where's Neo? Is she-"

"She!" Folly held up both hands, "Is fine. She's asleep, I told her you were fine and she was just so tired; the poor thing couldn't even hold her head up, and her wound starting really hurting, so I gave her some meds. She's in the guest room, sleeping."

Roman exhaled in relief, "Oh, good."

"What? Were you worried I would eat her or something?"

Folly cackled as if she had made the funniest joke in all of Remnant.

"Well no, I just wanted to-"

"You can go check on her; it's so cute that you care about her so much," she smiled before putting her hand on Roman's shoulder.

"But! After that you should come drink with me, and tell me all about that _long story_ of yours; that whiskey isn't going to drink itself, y'know!"

He _had_ been craving some Amberwood all day.

Truth be told, Roman couldn't tell why he was hesitating at all, even slightly; what better way was there to unwind, after multiple near-death experiences in the 48 hours since escaping The Maw, then getting wasted off of quality liquor while in good company?

"Sounds like a plan," he grinned at a similarly excited Folly, "Let me just drop this off and check on Neo."

"I'll pour the drinks!"

Folly took the stairs up to her apartment as quickly as her inebriated nerves would allow her to as Roman followed closely behind. They split off after entering the apartment; he watched her teeter to her refrigerator and retrieve the bottle of golden liquor on top of it before he went to the guest room. He was gentle as he opened the door, entering quietly and closing it behind him in the darkness only split by the muted window light.

Immediately he saw Neo on the bed, lying on her side beneath the sheets with small hands beside her face. Roman only noticed he was smiling as he slipped off his shoes and approached the bed; she looked so peaceful, her newly dyed hair splayed across the pillow like a blanket of fluffy, Neapolitan clouds.

He didn't touch her for fear of waking her, for he knew how little she slept, but he knelt by her side and took in the sight for a few moments longer before he slipped the box underneath their bed.

He had thought about what to do with the exquisite weapon while on the way back, but even from the moment he had received it, his mind had already been made up. With weapons on the mind, he briefly took note of Melodic Cudgel's location leaned against the table: exactly where he had left it.

Making effort to be quiet, the only sounds in the room were Neo's rhythmic breaths as he shed his coat, gloves and hat and changed into the shirt Folly had lent him before leaving the girl to her rest and joining the tattoo artist in the living room.

As soon as he sat down at the table he was joined by both Folly and a glass of sweet-smelling whiskey she had poured for him, three ice cubes clinking against the glass within a column of golden liquid.

"Hope you like ice."

Folly collapsed into the chair across from him, a can of Schnee Ice in hand that she swigged with gusto.

He didn't respond immediately, instead washing down the stresses of the day with a mighty draught of his glass; the taste of his favorite liquor was tart, with accents of honey and syrup.

"Ah, I needed this," he sighed, squinting as the alcohol pleasantly scorched his throat, "There was a moment there, in The Maw, where I almost forgot what liquor tasted like."

Folly was silent for a moment as she took a gulp from her beer, but she quickly followed it up with laughter.

"I still can't believe you escaped," she said, "You badass."

"Hey," Roman spread his hands, "It comes naturally when you're just _this_ good."

"So, how _did_ you do it? You know, when you say something is a long story, it just makes people wanna hear it."

Roman swilled his glass; he was already just about on the edge of tipsy, and despite sleeping the entire day away, the events of late had left him craving a bed. Still, considering it was Folly's bed he was currently utilizing free of charge, he decided to indulge her at least until he finished his glass.

"Well," he took a drink, exhaling, "Get ready for a story…"

* * *

"I almost threw up…!"

Roman slammed back another glass; he had lost count of how many had come before, as Folly reached for breath somewhere between laughter and disbelief.

"The guy thought it was funny or something!"

Without thinking Roman reached for the bottle of whiskey, and drunkenly poured himself an additional glass; Folly didn't notice as he spilled some on her table.

"I still haven't got past the part where you escaped a Grimm!" Folly exclaimed, "I've never seen a real one!"

Roman continued as if he hadn't heard.

"Marcus just like, hands me this heap, that looks half rotted, and is just, like, have fun! You'll be jumping! No landing strategy or anything, fucking seriously…"

Folly placed another can of beer on the table, next to several, shaking her head as Roman continued to rant.

"By this point!" he announced, louder than was necessary, "I've almost been killed so many times death doesn't even fucking scare me anymore! I ran away from a Nevermore! So for fuck's sake, I just jump out of the damned thing because I don't even care anymore, and if I don't? Well, then we die anyway, and that just means I breathed rust in for three months for no reason! So how the fuck could it get any worse, right? So out the door we go, and then you know the rest."

He finished the drink he had just poured himself as Folly laughed in disbelief, her cheeks crimson and a hand on her forehead.

"It must have been horrible," she finally said, "No food, no privacy… no booze!"

" _You're_ telling _me!_ " Roman sighed, exasperated.

Folly traced a fingernail around the rim of a beer can, meeting Roman's bloodshot eyes. Both of them had matching, rosy cheeks and lopsided grins.

"No women, either…"

Roman held up a finger, "Actually there were a few, but most were faunus."

Folly rolled her eyes.

"Not what I meant, genius! You probably haven't been laid in months!"

Roman blinked before moving to pour himself another glass.

"Well… It wasn't really a big concern of mine!" he said, "But now that I'm back in town I'll start playing the field again."

"Gonna be a little harder as a single dad," Folly said with a wink.

Roman felt his cheeks flush, and not from the alcohol.

"Hey she's not my daughter! It's… it's more like having… a sister."

Folly allowed herself a laugh at his expense, rolling her eyes as he took another drink.

"I know, Roman," she said, quickly following with a yawn, "Thanks for the tale, but I'm wasted, it's late, and I have a client at twelve."

Roman nodded, drunkenly waving away the apology in her voice.

"Go! Sleep, Folly! I might drink a little more…"

"Dude there's… barely any whiskey left…"

Roman squinted at the bottle. His vision was blurred, and he couldn't tell exactly how much liquor remained; it wasn't very substantial, that much was clear.

"Oh…" he said, "Guess I got a little… carried away?"

He cringed melodramatically as Folly laughed, covering her mouth with a purple rose-marked hand.

"I don't blame you, man! The Maw was the stuff of nightmares! Help yourself to some beer if you need to."

"I think I might do that."

Folly tottered across the room to her bedroom door; it might have been the booze, but it looked to Roman like she was attempting to sway her hips.

"I'll leave my door open, though," she turned to him, "Just in case you get _scared_."

With a wink, the artist proceeded into her room and, true to her word, neglected to close the door behind her.

Roman Torchwick may have been completely wasted, but he was not a fool; in fact, the main thing that had kept him alive this long was his intuition. Even with the copious dose of alcohol diluting his blood, he watched through the noticeable gap in Folly's door as her shirt was tossed onto the floor; her long, bare legs as she crawled onto her bed. Her hip twisted and the light dimmed, but did not go dark, and he could have sworn she was inviting him into her room.

She was right: he _hadn't_ been laid in months, and after everything he'd been through, maybe all the built-up adrenaline could be put to use in more _mutually beneficial_ ways than just staying awake all night killing every beer in Folly's well-stocked fridge.

He rose from the table, and his head swayed, as if halfway filled with liquid cement. The walk to Folly's room was challenging in his current state, but he managed with effort to maintain his balance all the way to her open door. He nudged it aside carefully and with as deliberate a motion as he could manage; if indeed the alcohol was planting false perception in his head, Folly would have ample time to notice his intrusion and send him on his way.

And she did notice him; Roman leaned against the doorframe mere feet away from a reclined, smirking Folly, one manicured nail placed tantalizingly between her lips. Her svelte body, fully tattooed with stylized, colorful visages of wildlife and flora from the arches of her feet to the antlers of the signature wildebeest on her throat, was on full-display before his eyes covered only by her lace-accented underwear as she lay with her head tilted on her pillow.

Roman's shirt joined the mounds of clothing on the floor. His drunken disrobing was less graceful than the situation typically would have called for, but the similarly inebriated tattoo artist was understanding. They shared a mutual, carefree laugh before Folly held out her hand. She turned her palm upward, one of the only patches of undecorated flesh on her body, and beckoned with a deliberate curl of one lithe finger.

Like a moth to flame Roman descended; his lips crashed against Folly's waiting mouth, and from then until sleep claimed them they bucked and rocked like the tides. His hands, his tongue roamed the tapestry of her flesh; ascended her peaks and traversed her valleys. The demons that plagued him were silent, drowned in an ocean of lust, whiskey, and sweat, and on his journey, lost among the peaks, for a moment he forgot the stench of misery as he inhaled her.

* * *

 **Vale, Day 17**

"Here, take a look."

The hairdresser passed a mirror into Roman's gloved, waiting hand, and after a brief inspection, he whistled at the results of his makeover at the young stag faunus' labor. Initially he had been more than hesitant to let a faunus cut his hair, but the way she had teased, layered, and trimmed the mess of split ends that had been his fiery mane into a clean, voluminous swoop over the right side of his face brought out his jawline in a way he found very aesthetically pleasing. She had even waxed his brows and left his lined eye uncovered, further emphasizing the asymmetry he preferred; truth be told…

"Not bad, deerie!"

He passed the mirror back and rose from his seat, returning his hat to his head and retrieving Melodic Cudgel from beside him.

"Here," he handed the stunned hairdresser a handful of lien bills that amounted to more than the cost they had agreed upon, "Go… get your antlers oiled, or whatever you faunus do to treat yourselves; you earned it."

He exited the salon, back into the crowds of Vale's sprawling underground mall and stretched; two weeks in Vale and just now were they getting around to that shopping trip. Even living in the kingdom his whole life he had never visited the mall before now, and even though he had never had a reason to he was almost regretting not having done so. The mall was one of the most modern additions to Vale, with multiple entrances around the city, three levels with a variety of stores from hair salons and clothing outlets to weapon shops, and cutting edge holographic maps placed every few feet; he only wished he had more money to spend.

"Hey! Roman!"

He turned at the sound of Folly's voice; the artist and Neo were walking through the crowd of shoppers, both women smiling jovially as they approached.

"Ladies!" he acknowledged them with a tip of his hat, "Did some clothes shopping, did we?"

Neo nodded, wearing one of the dresses Folly had procured for her from the thrift store two weeks prior; it was a decent find, plain and colored navy. The artist carried a bag of clothes stamped with a logo, and Roman took note of the short, fur-collared green jacket she was wearing that he'd never seen before now.

"Looks good," he said.

"Says the guy with a sharp new haircut!" she replied, "You look like the singer from Panic On The Dance Floor."

Roman raised an eyebrow, "I… hate that band."

"Ugh, whatever; you just stick to your jazz, then."

"I have refined musical tastes, Folly."

"Neo," Folly looked beside her, "Whose music do you like better?"

Neo was standing on the tips of her toes, attempting to raise her head above the banister overlooking the two lower floors of the mall. She did not abandon her task, but reached a finger back to Roman, causing Folly to gasp in shock as she gripped her heart.

"Neo, how could you!? I feel betrayed!"

She whined as Roman shook his head and laughed.

"Atta girl," he grinned smugly as Neo offered him a thumbs-up.

Folly crossed her arms and snorted.

"Seriously? The two of you wouldn't know good music if it tackled you in a mosh pit."

Neo turned from the banister, rolling her eyes above an entertained smirk. When both adults turned their attention to her she didn't hesitate to point urgently to her feet; while her dress was functional, her shoes were another story, as all Folly had managed to find small enough for her tiny feet had been an aged pair of child's sneakers that had clearly seen better days.

"Right! Next on the list is to get miss Neo some new shoes," Folly said, "It's gonna be a challenge though; they hardly make anything in her size."

"Have you already looked?" Roman asked Neo directly. A nod and a shrug was his answer.

"There's a specialty shoe store on the bottom level," Folly explained, "At the very least we could commission some custom shoes for her, but that'll be a pretty penny."

"We're not gonna find anything if we don't look," Roman was undeterred, "And we're not leaving until Neo finds shoes she likes; come on!"

They started off for the nearest escalator even as Folly continued to be the voice of reason.

"Seriously Roman, she deserves to have shoes she likes but hunting for her size is no joke; every store so far hasn't even carried it."

Nothing could dampen his spirits; the two weeks or so since arriving in Vale, after narrowly escaping with his life from the Hong Zhao, had progressed more splendidly than he could have ever imagined possible in The Maw. While Neo's leg wound had healed Folly had let them stay at her apartment free of charge, and even after she could walk without pain no terms had been discussed. Not only did the roof over their head cost Roman nothing, but the drunken tryst he and Folly had shared hadn't been an isolated event; on several different occasions the two adults had mutually, and physically, negotiated their needs, and nothing had changed between them outside of the bed sheets.

Roman preferred it that way; the vigorous _activity_ had helped his body to forget his time in The Maw and clear his thoughts so he could focus on his plan of action for the future. On multiple occasions he had attempted to scout the current state of local Black Circle activity, but the intel Junior Xiong had shared with him had been accurate: the Circle was much harder to find as of late. To further complicate matters, even though he knew where several key Circle operations were located, he was wary of getting too close were he to reveal himself and give away whatever traces of the element of surprise he still possessed, or reveal that Folly was harboring him; the Circle's operatives still came in to her shop regularly to get tattooed, and he would either leave the apartment or remain upstairs during their visits. Though Folly said she would share anything they revealed to her, every operative thus far had kept their mouths shut about anything involving Giovane; most believed he had fled Vale entirely.

The mix of factors had made progress in locating the walrus faunus difficult, but in the meantime, he'd had ample opportunities to observe Neo and her behavior outside of The Maw; she still didn't sleep for very long, when she did, but the steady consumption of meals on a more frequent basis had led to her malnourished, frail figure gradually blossoming into that of a healthy young woman. At first her fuller cheeks and thicker thighs had appeared to be the intake of essential nutrients she had been deprived of for so long, but after the first week when her hips and bust had begun to fill out he had had been forced to re-estimate her apparent age; she was perhaps further along in adolescence than he had initially been led to believe.

This was also apparent in her behavior: though Neo rarely displayed anger or frustration, her mood was quick to shift. Sometimes she would be visibly happy and social, actively seeking out Roman or Folly and assisting them with cooking, cleaning, or observing the former's tattooing. When she wasn't familiar with the task she was eager to learn, and would pickup whatever it was quickly and efficiently.

Other times, in a short span of a few seconds, she would become distant and withdrawn. Roman would often find her in the guest room, either practicing her illusory semblance or simply resting with her eyes to the ceiling. Concerned for the effect prolonged isolation could have on her mind, Roman had frequently invited her out of the guestroom to take part in activities with he or Folly, but most of the time she would calmly decline. Folly had suggested that perhaps periods of isolation was more familiar to Neo, and therefore more comfortable than maintained socialization, and so Roman had left her alone. Eventually she would always return, smiling, and sometimes even mischievously sneaky; Folly had received more than a handful of surprises at the mercy of Neo's semblance and silent feet.

Though she apparently remembered how to read, she seemed uncomfortable with scroll communication. Initially Roman had hoped that text messaging her would result in a clearer exchange of information between them, but he inferred quickly from her curt, vague answers that Neo was actually more comfortable, perhaps more adapted, to simply using body language and facial nuance to get her points across. She was also a perfectionist, and would display this tendency most commonly at dinner, where she would always meticulously arrange her cutlery into perfectly parallel layouts, or while doing any other household chore such as folding clothes into flawlessly pressed piles, or scrubbing a surface until even miniscule specks of filth had been eradicated. On one occasion, she had even waited until Folly had finished with the dishes before washing them all again herself. Twice.

While on one of his reconnaissance forays Roman had located an abandoned warehouse that the Circle no longer occupied, and he planned to show Neo, and present her with the exquisitely-crafted weaponized parasol he now possessed, when he next had the chance; now that her leg had healed, leaving only a discolored bruise with the assistance of a constantly maintained aura, he was eager to return to combat training with her.

He was ripped from his thoughts when Neo, maintaining a constant pace ahead of him in the mall, broke formation and pressed herself to a shop window. A glance showed her gazing longingly at a pair of white, equestrian riding boots; they were tall, knee-high with arching, high heels carved from wood and inlayed with ornate buttons.

"Whoa, someone's got fashion sense," Folly remarked, leaning down to look at the boots from over Neo's small, transfixed head. Roman glanced at the sign for the store; while lost in thought they had arrived at _Cedar's Specialty Footwear Boutique_.

Neo was in awe; her cheeks flushed as she beheld the boots, mouth agape.

"Not bad, Neo," Roman commented, "Those are some pretty high heels though; you sure you'll be able to walk in those?"

Neo's head whipped to him as she nodded vigorously, her pink and brown eyes set in fearless determination.

"I'll take that as a _yes_?"

"She'll be fine; walking in heels isn't hard, just keep your shoulders back, and think _murder_."

Folly imparted her wisdom before examining the specifications next to the boots on display.

"Oh they have your size!" she announced excitedly as Neo's eyes bulged with yearning, "It's the smallest size they carry! Now, where's the price… oh, Dust…"

Roman raised an eyebrow, "Oh Dust? Come on, don't leave us hanging, Folly."

Folly turned to Roman with a disappointed grimace.

"Two thousand, five hundred lien."

There was a moment of uncertain, aghast silence. In the background, a group of high-school aged girls chatting and giggling amongst themselves, as well as a vexed parent scolding their small child, were uncomfortably audible.

"…Alright," Roman said, glancing at Neo's devastated face; she looked like she genuinely didn't understand why there was a problem; only that she would have to leave her boots behind.

"When I make some money, I'll pay you back for them."

"What!?" Folly shook her head, rising from the display window, "Roman, I don't have that kind of money; that's a months' rent!"

"Well…"

He looked desperately past Neo's pouting expression, to the display looking for the most favorable outcome possible.

"Look," Folly pointed to the display, "Those are the luxury edition boots, hand-made with high-quality materials, but the factory standard, are still two-fifty! It's-"

"Wait," Roman held up a hand, "…Really?"

"Yeah," Folly said, irritable at being interrupted, "They're way cheaper, but I've heard bad things about this brand online; they say the luxury models last for years, but the factory ones are hit-or-miss. I don't know about you, but two-fifty is a lot to pay for a pair of boots that have the heel literally _glued_ to the sole by faunus in a sweat-shop somewhere…"

Folly actually continued to rationalize further, but Roman had stopped listening. One look at Neo's heartbroken expression, and the gears of his criminal clockwork had already started turning. He glanced around the entrance to the boutique: there were no customers, and only one cashier was behind the desk: a young man, probably a teenager, playing on his scroll. The standard security measures were in effect: One camera behind the desk, and a barcode scanner at the entrance. He eyed the equestrian boots, the luxury ones that had caught Neo's multi-chromatic eyes, and a confident grin spread across his face even as Folly continued to tell his deaf ears that it wasn't viable.

"…And I've already over-budgeted since you guys started staying with me; not that I'm blaming you, I chose this, but we have _really_ got to start thinking about how much we're willing to spend here…"

"You willing to spend one-twenty-five?" Roman asked, "...For the luxury boots? We'll split them, fifty-fifty."

"Um, the luxury boots are off the table!" Folly exclaimed incredulously, "If you really want to spend that money for the… wait…"

Neo looked curious as Folly studied the winning smile on Roman's face, squinting suspiciously.

"Neo," Roman announced, "We're getting those boots, but Folly: I'm gonna need your help."

"Roman…" she said slowly, "Just what are you planning to do, exactly?"

"What I do best."

Roman winked at a smiling Neo as Folly's eyebrows knitted in anger.

"Wait, what? No! Absolutely not; we are _not_ going to _steal_ a two-and-a-half-thousand lien pair of boots!"

"Shhhh! Not so loud."

Despite the warning, Roman's smirk did not waver, "I've got a plan, Folly, and I can't do it without you. You with me?"

Folly grasped for words where she had none before looking aside, crossing her arms, and resting two fingers indignantly upon her brow.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Roman soothed, "I'm a professional, remember?"

Folly didn't look convinced. Nonetheless, she sighed heavily in apparent resignation.

"…Let's hear it, Roman."

* * *

The young cashier was still playing on his scroll when Folly swung her hips into Cedar's Boutique.

"Oh-Hi! Welcome to Ceda-"

"Yeah, I have a few questions!? I'm birthday shopping for my kid brother and he is. The. _Worst_!"

Folly approached the checkout counter, announcing her intentions more aggressively than necessary as she leaned both elbows on the surface and stared, firmly but not unkindly at the cashier, who quickly put away his scroll.

"Of course! What sort of q-"

"Ugh! Boys' shoes," Folly exclaimed, "I know nothing about them and he wants these… these…."

She gestured with a tattooed hand, "These aeroshock sneakers or whatever; can you show me the different models?"

"Yes! Certainly ma'am, right this way!"

The cashier led Folly to the men and boys' section on the right side of the small boutique. It was at this moment that Roman and Neo entered, immediately proceeding to the women and girl's section on the left.

"Alright," Roman whispered, "Grab one size above yours in the factory standard version."

Neo set upon her task with the same determination she had displayed slaying her way to freedom in The Maw; she scoured the boxes neatly aligned on the shelves as Roman did the same. It didn't take them long, but still luck was necessary for their success: There was only one set of luxury boots left in size six, and one pair of size seven for the factory standard set.

Breathing a quick sigh of relief, Roman signaled for the both of them, each in possession of a box of boots, to proceed to the next phase of the plan. It may have seemed counter-intuitive to their success to deliberately approach the sole cashier in the store, but that was what separated Roman Torchwick from the dozens of petty thieves prowling Vale's streets: he knew that the best hiding spot was not in the shadows, but in plain view.

He approached the cashier, who had his back turned while being lectured by a rambling Folly, and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me," Roman announced as the cashier turned to him, "My niece and I are just going to see which size fits her in the dressing room, then we'll be out to pay."

"Oh! Certainly!" The cashier confirmed, "Would you like any hel-"

"Hey!" Folly stomped her foot on the paneled floor, scowling, "I was in the _middle_ of a sentence!? I have a half a mind to call your manager!"

"Oh I-I'm t-terribly sorry ma'am!" The besieged cashier swung his attention back to the furious Folly, "It's been a long day."

"Whatever," the artist dismissed, "I have questions about the mark three model versus the mark four."

The lone employee's attention completely ensnared, the two would-be-thieves proceeded casually into one of two fitting booths in the back of the boutique. They closed the door quietly, set the boxes down on the bench carefully, and pilfered their contents. They worked quickly, efficiently; theirs was a partnership built on planning, communicating, and then executing those plans as economically as possible. Although they wasted nary a second, Roman took a moment as he worked to smile knowingly at his young protégé, a gesture she returned before they returned to their tasks with renewed focus.

Up close, the differences between the factory stock boots and the handmade luxury models were readily apparent; precise stitching held the genuine, white leather together on the luxury boots, every anomaly no matter how subtle a testament to the personality of the item, where the machine stitching on the standard boots made no statement beyond predictability. Roman relocated the footwear, placing the luxury boots in the box for the standard model and vice versa, and as he did so he marveled at the strength of the scrupulously sculpted heels, genuine finished leather, and detailed buttons on the boots that would soon belong to Neo; these were shoes that were made to last.

They waited for a few moments, the amount of time it would realistically take for Neo to try on two different pairs of boots, of course, before they wordlessly exited the booth. Roman carried the box for the factory standard boots, which contained the handcrafted luxury footwear while Neo carried the cheaper boots in the virtually identical box made for the luxury pair.

She deposited the box in the appropriate section on the wall as Roman approached the counter. On the right side of the boutique Folly was in the midst of concluding her act.

"At this point, I just don't know!" she exclaimed, "Maybe my brother would be happy with a cheaper pair; maybe he won't be able to tell the difference."

"Well, that's… up to you, ma'am."

"You know what? I think I'm done here," she sighed exasperatedly, "You were a big help but I think I need to make a call to my mom; I'm just very out of my element right now and if I get him the wrong shoes, there will be _hell_ to pay for me."

"Alright well…" the cashier quickly took note of the relaxed man standing at the counter, and his adorably petite niece, and smiled in relief.

"Just come back if you change your mind."

"Of course!" Folly threw a hasty wave over her shoulder as she exited the boutique, "Bye for now."

Though the cashier attempted to disguise it, his sigh of relief was long and deep as he returned to his position behind the counter.

"Long day?" Roman smiled pleasantly.

"Oh, Dust," the cashier shook his head, laughing, "I'm just glad that's over."

"I worked at a Cedar's when I was a kid, too," Roman lied, "She's not even the worst I've ever seen!"

The two men shared smiles as the cashier scanned the box with only the briefest of glances. He looked to Neo, leaning over the counter to see her.

"Fit okay?" he asked, "These boots are beautiful! My sister wanted a pair, but she had her eyes set on the handmade edition; she rides, you see, so-"

"I hear the standard edition is decent too," Roman interjected.

"Oh! Oh yes; the factory boots will still hold up, as Perionne is one of our most widely respected brands. Anyway, that will be two-hundred-and-fifty lien, sir, plus import tax."

"Here," Roman had the bills presented before the cashier had finished his sentence.

"Perfect!" The boy answered, "While you're here, would you like to sign up for a Cedar's credit card and receive two-percent off this order?"

"Not today," Roman shook his head.

"Okay, how about our free rewards program?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure? Every fifty lien spent gets you-"

"No."

Roman's countenance alone put an end to any further pitching. He received the receipt, and with a final, not unpleasant goodbye to the cashier, exited the boutique, Neo in tow. In his arms he carried a box containing handcrafted boots worth thousands of lien, a receipt for one-tenth that price, and on his face, he barely managed to repress a victorious smirk.

He was a professional, after all.

* * *

" _Never_ make me do that again."

Folly stared sternly at him from above her pistachio milkshake as Roman grinned, a greasy chicken tender halfway to his mouth. The sounds of dining and conversation surrounded them in the mall's food court, where they rested their feet and satisfied their palettes after the days' haul of new possessions. Neo didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the adults' conversation; perhaps she was no longer concerned with how they had acquired the beautiful high-heeled boots that now adorned her feet, but only happy that they made her several inches taller. Roman had to admit, he had been initially surprised at the girl's skill in walking in heels; the holding of her small hand had been unnecessary after the first few minutes.

"I didn't _make_ you do anything," Roman told the scowling tattoo artist, "Come on, it's fun to put on an act! You're a natural, you know."

Folly's mouth fell agape as Roman and Neo both consumed the fresh basket of chicken tenders, both of them temporarily speechless as they reveled in the greasy, rich taste of the fried fowl.

"A… _natural?_ " Folly shook her head, "A natural at acting like a complete bitch? Wow, thanks; you're too kind."

"Hey, not what I meant!" Roman denied through a mouthful of calories, "You're a natural actress, in general."

Folly cocked a brow.

"You're a great artist as well," Roman elaborated, "You just have natural talent as an actress too. You're a… multitalented individual, Folly."

Folly looked away, sipping on her milkshake and shrugging.

"Well," she said, "I guess I do make a pretty good schoolgirl."

Roman's cheeks burned crimson.

"No comment," he laughed uncomfortably before dropping his voice to a murmur, "Not in front of Neo."

"…She's not even here anymore."

Folly pointed over Roman's shoulder, and he twisted to look across the food court. Amongst the tables, chairs, and greasy food, the grand piano set against the far wall next to the fountain looked out of place, in the same way that a bouquet of roses would stand out in a dive bar. The instrument was unattended, and Neo was approaching it having already weaved her way through the various other mall-goers feasting at the tables that lined the food court.

In a way the sight reminded Roman of The Maw, watching his protégé move unnoticed as a whisper among the sounds of plastic cutlery and moving teeth. Quickly, he shook the comparison from his mind.

"Here, let's go get her," he rose from the table, carrying a spare tender between gloved fingers even as Folly looked quizzically between he and the adventurous Neo.

The girl in question had now reached the piano and, with some difficulty, mounted its bench; the population of the food court paid her no mind, even as she struck a single, clear note that sounded across the tables.

Roman winced and approached carefully; Neo looked unusually focused and relaxed as she listened intently to the single note resound, but it wouldn't be long before the entire food court would take notice of the tiny girl with the multi-colored hair playing random, clearly audible notes on what he was sure was a pristinely maintained piano that was off-limits to the public. Neo herself refrained from striking another note at first, instead manually lowering the height of the bench that seated her to its most compact position before straightening her back, placing her toes on the pedals, and splaying her slender fingers across the keys.

"Yeah, it's a nice piano, huh?" Roman said, stopping several feet away from the seated, concentrated Neo.

Her response was barely perceptible; a distant, distracted bobbing of her head as she counted the keys, white and black both, highest to lowest with one index finger.

Folly joined Roman's side as he debated what the best way to subtly shuffle Neo away from the instrument was.

"You didn't tell me she could play," the artist whispered.

"She can't," Roman instantly denied, "I don't know what's gotten into her, but I'm sure it's just curiosity; she _has_ been locked up for a while, after…"

The words were stolen from his mouth as a series of notes melodically sounded forth from the piano, each complimentary in frequency and harmony. The passage was quiet, almost hesitant, with each note pressed at varying volumes, but the timing, the melody, were both too deliberate to be a simple slip of Neo's fingers. In the momentary pause that followed the food court's population had grown noticeably quieter. Several mothers, fathers, and children turned in the direction of the instrument, but only a minority spared more than a few, fleeting seconds before refocusing on their food and conversation.

The pianist herself seemed displeased; Neo's brow knitted as she relocated her hands by several keys in either direction. Still apparently not satisfied, she glanced at the keys to her right once more before applying minute adjustments to her fingers' positions.

Roman became acutely aware of the attention, however negligible, upon Neo as she sat at the piano too absorbed to notice it; under any other circumstances he would have been wont to interrupt her curiosity, particularly while she was so absorbed, but attention of any kind was never an advantage, in any situation.

"Hey, Neo," he started quietly with a single step in her direction, "It's getting late; we should head back-"

The next notes to sound from the grand instrument at Neo's behest were different from the ones that had come before, the tones louder, but still soft, and shaped as rainwater against concrete. There was a brief rest before her small fingers brought forth another succession of notes, and this time Roman felt his heart's beat stolen forth from his control, the breath rise in his chest, suspended like a bird with the breeze beneath its wings.

A melody soon followed, and it emerged as dawn from the shadow of night; at first it was subtle and meandering, before becoming bold and deliberate. Roman could have moved, had he really wanted to; he could have sprung forth and whisked Neo away from the piano even as she played, even as her audience grew by the note, as one-by-one the occupants of the food court were reached by the sequence she called forth from the grand instrument. He could have, but something stilled his feet; it was like Neo's song was asking him, pleading with him to trust its course and let it conclude on its own terms before he did what he would.

Neo was as much captivated by her melody as her onlookers; her eyes were closed even as her fingers conjured the very tune that ensnared her. They glided seemingly unguided as air across the keys of the piano, only striking a note too hard, or slightly too softly often enough to remind the impromptu audience that the music was constructed from the practiced will of a human being and her dexterity.

But if one passage were to be rewritten, a single note played higher or lower, shifted even seemingly, trivially in any direction the entire song would veer astray like a ship lost at sea. The notes journeyed in branching directions pale and stormcast, bright and somber, but always shifting with the grace of the seasons. Neo's eyes opened to orient her hands, but closed as soon as her need of them receded. Her ears were responsible for charting the course of her song, perhaps her memories as well, and her hands were only the puppets dancing to her edict.

Once during the performance, Roman gathered himself enough to turn to Folly, and he saw she was as transfixed as he with her eyes open and her lips parted in the center, hands folded and still across her waist poised but without tension.

"…I didn't know she could-"

"Shhh."

Their exchange was as terse as it was whispered, silent and quickly lost in the encompassing melody. Still, it was only a few moments longer before Neo concluded her piece. Her chords grew quieter, her notes further wandered, until her song whispered its last breath to a crowd of silent beholders.

Only then did the girl take in her surroundings, at first with an aloof, swiveled survey of the room, with hands folded daintily across her lap. The first clap must have brought Neo back from whatever shore she had crossed to, because as more pairs of hands belonging to her previously silent audience struck in rapid succession, the more her eyes widened, and the more her shoulders shrunk as she sat at the bench receiving her applause like a blinded deer in a pair of headlights.

Roman simply stood motionless; it took him several seconds to return to himself, as if he had temporarily walked through another world, and as soon as he did he saw Folly join in the applause, her face splitting into a jubilant beam.

Still, now was his chance to remove Neo from the spotlight. Her song had concluded and she was visibly uncomfortable from all the just-noticed attention she was receiving. His head was still not quite his own, spinning from all the implications of what he had just witnessed, but for now he had to remove her from the spotlight as gracefully and nonchalantly as possible, for both their sakes. He steeled himself, and being already the closest member of the audience to the stunned Neo, he stepped for her.

But in that instant, something in her features changed. Her panicked pupils she blinked, and the pursed grimace she wore became a humble smile. She hopped down from the piano bench, and her new, heeled boots clicked on the polished ground. She crossed one foot behind the other, bent her knees and curtsied, and the applause from the crowd only rose in intensity and volume.

"This…"

Roman turned to Folly's voice within the applause.

"This is…" she shook her head even as she clapped her hands, "I've seen a lot of concerts, and this is one of the most amazing thing I've ever seen; did you not know about this…?"

He listened to the continuous ovation around him.

"No," he started, "She didn't... She couldn't tell me."

* * *

They emerged onto the streets of Vale mid-nightfall. High in the sky, above the buildings, the shattered fragments of Remnant's moon were just beginning to come into view. Roman's feet ached as he climbed the steps from the underground mall onto the lamp-lit cobblestone of the commercial district, carrying the majority of the day's purchases in his arms whether they belonged to him or not.

They still had to walk a few blocks to the nearest bus station, but despite having the longest legs of their trio Folly was taking the longest to traverse the distance.

"I thought I heard some parts in there that sounded a little like the Tale of the Four Maidens!" she gushed to a smiling Neo, "My parents took me to see it as a girl. You know when the Spring maiden goes on stage? For the second time, following her encounter with the wolf?"

Neo nodded, and Folly only grew livelier.

"I knew it! There were two or three parts that sounded like it in there, I knew you'd seen it!"

Neo held up two fingers, and Folly gasped.

"Two times?"

Nodding followed.

"It's such a classic!" the artist squealed, "Roman! Let's break out some beer and watch the film when we get home!"

"Sure; it _is_ a classic, after all," Roman agreed with a grin. As he carried their bags Folly continued to dote on Neo, asking after the condition of her recently-healed leg walking back in brand new heels, even as the girl silently insisted on her capability.

And above them, seated under the umbrella of a streetside veranda, long, thin fingers circled the rim of a half-full glass of gin. The opposite hand, tattooed with the image of a sneering, black half of a king Taijitu, raised a ringing scroll to its owner's ear within a mass of bunned, greasy midnight hair.

"Hello?"

A curt voice sounded from the scroll. A slim, forked tongue slicked dry lips with saliva in swift, darting motions before speaking.

"Gelb, this is Collette," the snake-tongued woman spoke, her voice arid. On the street below a small girl with multi-colored hair, Circle-contracted tattoo artist Folly Rosenwood, and Roman Torchwick, back from the dead it would seem, disappeared from view as they rounded the corner of an apartment building.

"Get me the boss," she hissed, once more licking her peeling, pale lips, "We've got a problem."


	11. Severance (Part 1)

**Vale, Day 23**

The violent smacking of cane against umbrella filled the dimly lit warehouse. Sparks briefly illuminated the workbench nearby as Neopolitan whipped the blade of her parasol along the floor with a screech, whirling into a violent clash with the much taller Roman. She braced a heeled boot behind her as his superior leverage threatened to throw her to the ground and clenched her teeth.

Above their two weapons, deadlocked in an X shape, Roman's jaw was set in determination; Neo could feel him pressing her downward with all his strength.

His mistake.

She winked, and it was his only warning before she tucked a foot behind her and quickly spun to the side as Roman stumbled forward with a curse. She swung for his exposed back, but he blocked it, having caught his balance at the last possible second.

Neo's heart jumped; with a tug of his arm Roman hooked her parasol and yanked it forward. Relinquishing her grip or being thrust forward and off balance her only options, she let go and retreated with a graceful backflip as Roman gently tossed her parasol behind him with a smirk.

"You should have disarmed me when you had the chance," he goaded, "I counted three missed opportunities. So, Miss Politan, I wonder what you'll do now?"

She scowled, but it was only an attempt to hide an amused grin of her own, and a poor one at that. Roman slung Melodic Cudgel over his shoulder trying to tempt her into a hasty decision, but she wouldn't fall for his tricks. Her nearly healed calf throbbed briefly as she evaluated her options.

Tired of waiting, or perhaps on a whim, Roman tossed and caught Melodic Cudgel at the opposite end, depressing a switch and firing the handle forward on a cable straight for her uninjured calf.

 _Oh, Roman: always the gentleman._

The ballistic grappling hook impacted only an ethereal illusion. Neo watched the smiling visage of herself take a bow and shatter into glass from several feet behind Roman, exactly where she'd wanted to appear; her control of her semblance was growing.

Her illusions were not so much visual trickery, but rather tangible afterimages that she left behind after a short distance teleport; they were fallout from her tactical relocations. Roman retracted Melodic Cudgel's handle and turned around just in time for Neo to oust the weapon from his grip with a hooked kick, sending it flying across the relatively small warehouse.

She didn't give him time to do more than snarl and prepare himself before they were locked in unarmed combat, exchanging furious strikes, counters and kicks in a furious rhythm. Roman still had the upper hand in unarmed combat, so to speak, so Neo allowed him to drive her backwards and believe he had her on the defensive. She was aware of her discarded parasol on the floor several feet behind her, even as she threw a telegraphed kick.

Roman caught her leg and pulled her in, and she used the momentum to kick her other heel into his aura-protected knee, and thus she arced, rotating, through the air as he winced in pain. Still, Neo caught his single lined, visible eye watching her display, and in it, buried beneath immediate frustration, she saw admiration and awe.

And it made her hot.

She landed on one knee, swiped her parasol from the ground, and charged Roman with her blade drawn. Her attack was a flurry of steel and wood, but her opponent weathered it with deft, precision counters and deference, all the while studying her even as they traded violence.

Roman's eyes on her were what she wanted; for him to look at her and see her spirit, her ferocity, and her ruthlessness, even if it was, for the moment, against him. Her calf throbbed but she was going to win this duel, not to survive, or to prove she was better, but so he could behold her, as she stood triumphant.

But in a second his grip ripped the parasol from her left hand, and she was forced back on the defensive as he whipped the curved weapon through the air. Defense was close to useless with just the thin, needle-like blade she was now left with, and so she braved Roman's aggression and went for his neck.

Blow by blow their aura drained, but they pushed through the pain even as their clash rained sparks upon the ground. A high-pitched beeping pierced through the sounds of combat, their scrolls warning both combatants that their respective aura wells were almost dry as they landed blows undefended, but their exchange was unrelenting; lightning within the eye of a storm that grew more ferocious as it roared.

And then they stood still. Weapons held to one another's throats as they glared into one another's eyes. The only sound the frantic beeping of their scrolls beneath heaving breaths. The subtle quaking of limbs as the adrenaline pumped through their bodies, and the slow curl of their lips, the aftermath of it all in crescent, tired smiles.

They lowered their weapons, and Roman withdrew his scroll as they stepped back from one another. Neo heard him sigh, and could see the cringe in his voice even as she studied her own scroll.

"Why don't we call this one a draw?" he suggested, his grin sheepish.

She couldn't help it; Neo bared her teeth in a wide smile as she displayed her remaining aura level with a smug pride.

Twelve percent: that was below tournament disqualification grounds.

 _Close_.

Roman hesitated, his face falling melodramatically. Slowly, he showed her his scroll, and the nine percent indicator across its screen.

"Like I said… draw?"

Neo shook her head, still smiling. She beckoned daintily with her fingers, and Roman handed her parasol over to her with a defeated clutch of his heart.

"You got lucky," he said, "Next time, you're eating concrete, miss Neopolitan."

Hearing him say her name flushed her white skin. She sheathed her blade in her parasol, placed her gloved hands on her hips, and cocked a brow.

 _That's what you said last time._

That was what she wished she could say.

"Yeah, well," Roman retrieved Melodic Cudgel from the warehouse floor, "Like I said, you got lucky. Maybe when you get older I should bring you to the casino; we'd be rich in an hour."

She rolled her eyes and shook her shoulders; what she wanted to say, however, was that she was already old enough.

She thought. Maybe. She'd lost count of the years in The Maw, but she was sure that she was at least close to so-called legal age. She was well aware that her stature was far below average, yes, but she had suffered for longer than she had appeared.

The two of them silently set about recovering from their combat practice in their own ways. Even in the stuffy confines of the warehouse, Roman lit a cigar, but Neo didn't mind; she now associated the musty raspberry-scented smoke with his presence and felt calmed by it, even as she herself opened a bottle of water and quenched her strained, dry throat. The bottled water available in Vale, even water from Folly's kitchen tap, was so pure, and Neo felt like she was the only one who noticed.

"Anyway," Roman said, "You might want to start heading back home; wouldn't want to miss your appointment."

A rush of anticipation ran down her spine, an acute mix of excitement and apprehension as sparks fell from Roman's cigar.

"I think I'm gonna grab a drink," he chuckled, "But don't worry, I'll be there to hold your hand."

Neo shook her head. Roman's genuine smile then grew serious.

"Remember to use the safe routes. Text me when you arrive…. Oh, and drink some orange juice."

She held up her scroll.

 _Don't worry about me._

Occasionally Neo was thankful that words had abandoned her, because lying was easier when all you had to do was smile and wave a scroll. Truthfully, she never wanted Roman to stop worrying about her: it made her feel safe and valued.

As she exited the warehouse she opened her parasol immediately, squinting under the early afternoon sun; it felt like an iron pressed to her eyes. Had her vocal chords been able to produce the sound, she would have growled. She used to love sunlight; it had been one of her first memories, and one of the last to fade. It had lit the darkness, warmed her in the cold, but now the sun was here, kissing her skin once again after years away and all she could do was shrink in the shade as its rays threatened to blind her.

Curse him: Russet. Curse him for robbing her of even the warmth of the sky after all he'd taken from her. She walked briskly in the direction of Folly's shop, heels clicking on the pavement as she reached the sidewalk. It was the middle of the day on a weekend, and even in the industrial district a fair number of pedestrians walked past or around her, smiles on their faces.

But she didn't see them. She walked straight ahead, her face blank as the world around her began to fade. The clopping of shoes upon the ground, the murmur of voices, the smell of oil and tarmac: All of it felt far and away and soon she was alone in a world of hate. A world of pain, and of fear.

It was back. All of it. She hated it. She had practiced with Roman not minutes ago, so she was not _there_ , she was here, but she felt _there_. She wished she could kill him again. And again. And again.

That was all she wanted, just to kill him again. The memory wasn't sweet enough. It wasn't fair. It wasn't—

She collided with someone and instantly recoiled. It was a man of average height and build, walking in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Watch where you're…" he trailed off, and his features turned to worry, and then, to fear.

It was only then that Neo realized that she was snarling at the man who had touched her. In the space between her hands, a sliver of her concealed blade could be seen gleaming in the sunlight.

She sheathed her weapon immediately and bolted, straight past the confused man and weaved through the other pedestrians in her path; now more than ever she had to get to a safe route. Roman had charted several detours through back alleys and side streets that he had used when running contraband for the Circle as a child, and Neo had committed them to memory so that the current Black Circle would not spot either of them when they commuted to their practice space.

She darted into the nearest alley and vaulted a dumpster in her path, crouching behind it even as she realized her mistake; drawing attention. Because of her failure to keep herself in check that man would certainly call the police and report an armed, murderous woman suddenly running away from him with no explanation.

They were coming for her now.

And they would take her back to darkness.

She sat still as a corpse, her heart beating in her ears too loud for her to hear the bustle of the sidewalk outside the alley. Folly's shop was still several blocks away, and if she continued to take the safest, most indirect routes, she could arrive slightly late, but hopefully escape whatever police presence was bound to descend on her.

There was also the possibility that the man would be too scared to report her, and would simply go about his day, happy to be alive.

But rationality was like a distant whisper through a wall of screams. The fear was like a weight. Even as she willed herself to move, to run, her body was stilled. Her muscles felt hollow and useless trapped within limbs of stone.

It was several minutes before she was able to rise. When no one came for her she peered around her hiding spot, and saw that the passersby strode casually down the street just as they had been all along. Perhaps her transgression had been overlooked, but if she returned to Folly's shop using the designated back alleys the chances of her being caught were further lowered still.

Neo breathed deeply; it was time to move. She rolled up the navy blue sleeve of her coat. The faded serial number from The Maw marred her skin, but after today it would become like everything else.

A memory.

* * *

Roman pushed through the doors to the bar to the smell of cheap wine and the sound of outdated music playing from a jukebox on the right. It was a dingy place, two blocks from the abandoned warehouse, but the location was close enough to be practical and far enough away that he could still take alternative paths back to Folly's.

He strode past several unoccupied tables to take a seat at the bar. He signaled the bartender, a portly man with a mustache and glasses, all the while thinking only of Neo. She had made it back without incident before, but that was no indication of anything; what if this was the day she got jumped? The day she was kidnapped?

His stoic expression betraying not the thoughts in his head, Roman nodded to the well-stocked shelf behind the bartender, and the man wordlessly dropped some ice cubes into a glass and grabbed the bottle of Amberwood whiskey from behind him. Roman cracked his neck as he waited; that sparring session had left him tense.

Neo was becoming a better fighter by the day; even with a healing injury she was besting him on a consistent basis, and with a relatively complicated weapon with which she had little training. Even unarmed, her balance and precision were forces to be reckoned with, but the way she handled the weaponized parasol he had gifted her was almost an art in and of itself in its lethality.

He had asked her if she wished to christen the weapon with a title, but she had neglected to do so. Perhaps its namelessness personified the bond between weapon and wordless warrior better than any title could have.

Roman's drink, golden and iced as always, was placed before him even as the barstool adjacent to his was taken, suddenly and without grace. He looked to his side: a woman's frame wore a shiny, black trench coat that hung from her narrow shoulders, and her gloved hands leaned a black parasol with a marble handle against the bar.

Reptilian, viridian eyes stared at him framed by greasy midnight hair suspended in a messy bun, and faint dark veins reached from her temples into her hairline, evidence of routine Black Sap usage. The only exposed skin besides her face on her body were her pale thighs, where between the hems of her compact shorts and the tops of her tall boots the tattoo of a Boarbatusk was partially visible on her left.

The woman was no stranger to Roman: she was Collette Prasina, agent of the Black Circle and her weapon Misery Chord, and presently her pallid lips curled back into a wide grin over a pair of sharp fangs.

"Roman Torchwick…" she spoke as if beholding a specter, and her forked tongue quickly slicked her lips, "Do my eyes deceive me…?"

Roman stayed silent. He sipped his drink, and his wince was the perfect cover so the fear did not show on his face. Collette had placed her weapon between the both of them where Roman could easily grasp it, which meant that the snake faunus either bore him no ill will, or she wanted to make him think that she didn't.

"I've been getting that a lot lately," he forced a chuckle and a smile, "Nice to see you Collette; you look good these days."

Against her pale cheeks her flush was apparent.

"Oh, stop it you charmer," she tucked a greasy lock behind an ear, "They told me you were dead; I thought I would never receive such compliments again!"

"I'll try to make up for lost time, then."

"Hey!" The bartender placed a hand between the winking Roman and the bashful Collette, "We don't serve faunus here. Get lost, snake."

Collette turned her attention to the man slowly, and all traces of happiness dripped off her face. She fixed him with a leer, removed a single glove and laid it gently upon the counter, and he beheld the snarling King Taijitu tattooed on the back of her hand. Roman sipped his drink, and Collette caressed the man's chest across the bar without pause. Her eyes were unyielding, and her tongue dragged slowly, deliberately across her lips.

"You do today," she stated, "And it's _python_ , actually."

The man's Adam's apple visibly bobbed.

"Now then: Gin, on the rocks, if you would."

The bartender glanced briefly at Roman.

He sipped his drink.

"Better do what the lady says."

"…Yes, yes of c-"

"Oh! And one of those little lemons, too."

She took back her hand, flicking the man lightly on the chin, and returned her attention to Roman with a smile and a single bat of her mascara-bloated lashes. He tried to ignore the mortification displayed in red above the bartender's mustache, and he found himself drinking from his glass frequently, and in larger amounts. The faunus woman, once his colleague, next to him may have been smiling at him, but there was no mistaking this encounter for what it really was: the preamble to a duel fought not with weapons, but with words.

"Oh where have you been, Roman?" Collette said, "Have you been alone at the bar for long? Is it because of a woman, I wonder?"

"You said it yourself; I was dead," he said, "Or at least that's the word on the street. I'm surprised that no one knows what really happened."

"Do tell! You were so sorely missed among our brothers and sisters."

"I did a job for Giovane: a simple snatch and grab. I got the goods to Ryuko, got kicked in the head, and then I woke up in The Maw."

Collette's brows rose, and then furrowed. The bartender went to place her glass of gin before her, iced and decorated with a slice of lemon, but she snatched it from his hand and took a drink without removing her eyes from Roman.

"That's… you escaped The Maw?"

Roman laughed, "I've been getting that almost as much as people thinking I was dead."

"…No wonder you're alone at a bar," Collette took another hasty swig, spilling some from her glass, "Well, forgive me if I have trouble believing you… but you're here, and you're not dead… when did you get back to Vale? Why have you not-no, wait…"

Roman knew better than anyone that words from a Circle operative meant nothing; he studied every movement of Collette's body and face as she spoke.  
"You haven't tried to return to the Circle because someone among us has betrayed you! We only communicate amongst ourselves: is there ever anyone who didn't like you? Jealous of you? But then, how would they acquire the authority to send you all the way to The Maw?"

"Good question, Collette," Roman said, "I need to see Giovane, but I can't have anyone knowing I'm back yet. You operated directly under him; can you set up a meeting?"

Collette blinked and swilled her drink.

"The boss has been hard to reach as of late," she said, "He was concerned with your disappearance, especially with so many of our most trusted operatives… our _friends,_ murdered by the Hong Zhao the day you disappeared, and with your corpse nowhere among them."

Roman watched her take a deliberate swig of her liquor, and her fangs clinked against the glass. The bartender stood several stools down, polishing an already-spotless glass.

"I don't even know where he's hiding these days, but there is a way you can contact him. I can explain… somewhere else."

"In that case, why don't you follow me back to my base of operations? We can talk there."

Collette's face lit up.

"That sounds splendid! I'll watch your back to make sure you don't receive any nasty surprises from the traitors among our brethren… after I finish my gin, of course."

Roman swilled the nearly melted ice cubes in his glass and polished off his drink in one quick, fiery slug.

"Way ahead of you," he winked. He reached for his wallet but Collette was faster, quickly slamming her own onto the bar with coordination visibly hindered.

"This one's on me," she said.

Roman whistled, "Aren't I a lucky guy?"

Collette just squared her shoulders and smiled smugly.

"I'll just use the bathroom before we go; I won't be long."

He rose from the bar, and swayed as he grabbed Melodic Cudgel; Collette was not the only one affected by their shared liquor consumption.

"Hurry up Roman!" she called after him as he navigated the mostly empty tables, "It's rude to keep a lady waiting!"

The bar's men's room was tiled, but it was hard to tell under all the graffiti and filth that adorned it. The door closed behind a growling Roman, and he planted his hands on either side of the dirty sink.

" _Of course_ Giovane's been _hard to find_ lately," he muttered, "Fucking viper."

Collette was lying to him; that much was certain, but it was whether she was lying outright or simply omitting the whole truth was unclear. By separating them, he had given them both equal opportunities to either flee or call for reinforcements, but it was doubtful Collette would call for additional operatives to converge on a bar in broad daylight, and with their course now charted for a warehouse that only Roman knew the location of, he had now made sure that whatever was to follow was as much on his terms as possible, be it negotiation or confrontation.

He withdrew his scroll with some regret. He had promised to be there for at least the tail end of Neo's appointment, but now he would be cutting it short. He sent a quick text message to his mute partner:

 _Return to the warehouse. Come armed and disguised. –Roman_

She would understand, he hoped, but now with his call for backup sent, it was time to take a lady out on the town. He took a deep breath and returned to the bar, where Collette was finishing the last remains of her gin. The bartender was clearly waiting for her to leave, even as she threw several lien bills down next to an empty glass.

"Thank you for your _exemplary_ service," Collette licked her lips at the stoic bartender before turning to Roman, "Are you ready to whisk me away with you, Mr. Torchwick?"

He tipped his hat.

"It would be my pleasure."

* * *

The walk was short, but the few minutes it took for them to reach the warehouse felt much longer. Roman tried to keep his eyes open for any ambushes or other operatives pursuing them, all the while focusing on both walking in a straight line and listening to Collette talk.

Unlike him, the woman stumbled and talked loudly. Collette Prasina was not subtle, and her skills in combat were the only reason the Circle employed her. In that respect she was not to be underestimated, as she was quick and deadly. Once Roman had seen her take five men apart in less than a minute with nary a scratch on her.

And she had been drunk then, too, and tripping on Black Sap.

She gasped when she beheld the warehouse, and Roman walked ahead of her clenching Melodic Cudgel.

"What a pleasant abode!" she exclaimed, "I remember this warehouse; isn't this where we used to bring our weapons for field repairs?"

"A few years ago, yeah."

Roman's scroll hadn't vibrated; Neo must have been out of reach of her phone. He would have to handle this one by himself.

"Then the cops shot the smith, and we had to send our weapons to the South."

"Curse them," Collette spat.

In a first, Roman agreed with her, but did not say so. He opened the side door the warehouse and proceeded inside followed by Collette. He flipped the light switches and closed the door as she walked past him, observing their surroundings with a curious air.

"It's not much to look at," Roman said, "But my penthouse was _torched_ ; I didn't have much of a choice."

Collette looked around before replying. Her gaze wandered over the marks in the concrete floor left by the sparring sessions. Her gloved fingers tapped gently on Misery Chord's furled, black canopy.

"Then why…" she fixed him with a reptilian eye, "…Is there no bed anywhere?"

A light bulb buzzed and flickered.

Their weapons met in a flurry of blows, each swift but predictable in trajectory and direction. Both fighters snarled in rage, their weapons locked, and Collette smiled a wicked, cruel beam.

"I've been looking forward to this!" she hissed.

Roman shoved her away and swung at her legs; the alcohol still in his veins slowed his attack, but Collette's block sent her stumbling away, similarly intoxicated.

"So have I!"

Roman twirled Melodic Cudgel as he stared his opponent down, "Where's Giovane, Collette? Give him up, and I won't have to cut it out of you."

"Maybe I'll tell you… after you tell me what you've been up to with dear Folly."

Roman paled.

"It's odd…"

Collette fingered the spiked tip of her Misery Chord, "Folly was asking _so many_ questions about you. And then, one day, she just… stopped. Perhaps I'll pay her a visit myself…"

The faunus licked her lips. She tossed her weapon into the air, caught it by the still-furled canopy, and swung it around her. Its marble handle followed attached to a bladed chain that flashed before Roman's eyes in the harshly lit warehouse. Collette surrounded herself in a field of the chain's blades with overhead twirling motions, and through the screen of sharpened steel, she leered at him with a flash of her fangs.

She brought Misery Chord to her side, and its chained handle disappeared into its shaft with a sharpened _schick_.

"Dance with me, Roman," she said, "Come and show a damsel a night under the lights that she'll never forget."

Roman steadied his nerves. Melodic Cudgel's barrel moved in small half-circles. He tried to block thoughts of Neo and Folly from his mind.

"I would love to," he shrugged, "But, I suppose you'll have to do."

Collette scowled.

"How rude."

* * *

 **A guest reviewer asked me if this story would tie in to Roman's recruitment by Cinder Fall. I am writing _Like Candlelight,_ and scouring the RWBY wiki, with the intention of it being able to fit seamlessly into canon, so eventually it will tie directly into canon events. Presently, by setting the story 10 years in advance of canon and with characters that have little backstory, if any at all, I've allowed myself a lot of creative freedom, but as the story eventually closes in on canon events the story will intimately explore the Fall of Beacon through Roman and Neo's points of view.**

 **-Rampag3**


	12. Severance (Part 2)

**Just want to state that this story is rated M for a reason. It's not so much a trigger warning as it is a quick reminder.**

* * *

His shoes clacked and slipped as he stumbled backwards from the force of the blow. Sparks flew in small, isolated showers as Collette kept Roman at a distance with precise lashes from her weapon. In his current state, affected by alcohol and his thoughts hurried, it was all he could do to keep away from the snarling, laughing madwoman. He'd been trying for several minutes, and if he didn't get in close soon, he'd be finished.

"They know you're back Roman!" Collette shouted, her dry voice echoing in the confines of the warehouse, "But _I'm_ the one who found you! Don't worry: your freckled hide will make me rich!"

Roman sidestepped Collette's bladed chain, and she stumbled backward as her weapon struck an empty barrel with a _clang_.

"Maybe if you stop missing!" he replied, "You hold your liquor like a Beacon freshman!"

Collette's face twitched, but she resisted the bait. The two fighters circled one another, twirling their weapons in their hands. Roman had to end this quickly: his aura had still not fully recovered after his duel with Neo, and Collette had range. At this rate, she would pick him apart before he would even be able to get within striking distance. He had to close the gap.

"Aren't you worried about them?" the faunus goaded. She snapped Misery Chord's bladed chain, "Folly, and the girl… these days I question the company you keep-"

She dodged as Roman fired Melodic Cudgel's grappling hook at her feet. It was a hastily aimed shot, telegraphed as well, but it served its purpose: Roman rushed Collette as she somersaulted over the hook on its way back to him, and the moment she regained her footing they met weapon-to-weapon.

"Question your own! You think Gio won't stab you in the back the first chance he gets!?"

Collette grunted and retreated under a flurry of blows, trying to create another gap, but Roman had her confined between two shelves laden with tools, chains, and boxes, and it would all come crashing down unless she kept her weapon compact and manageable. They fought furiously, the sparks flying from their fight illuminating the space. At close range Roman hammered the smaller Collette in an effort to keep her pinned, but much like the reptile she shared genetics with, she slithered and coiled around his attacks, determinedly trying to escape the melee.

Her movements gave Roman no time to commit to an angle of attack, and his muscles strained from the speed of combat. He landed a few glancing blows, but he was tiring quickly, and Collette knew it. He was pushed onto the defensive as Collette hooked their weapons together and pulled herself in. Her manic, reptilian green eyes leered inches from his face.

"Watch your step, Roman," she spat.

A sharp pain exploded in his toes, and he cried out as Collette jammed a boot heel against the tip of his shoe. She ground his foot against the floor, laughing as Roman grit his teeth. He struggled against her control, whipping his body in all directions to dislodge her, and she slipped, eventually stumbling away as the pain in his toes faded.

The motion left Roman dizzy, and the alcohol in his system was doing everything except helping. When he steadied himself and looked up, he witnessed his opponent whirling her arms backwards into the shelf behind her. She banged a limb off of the metal post, and with a cry and a curse she gripped her forearm in pain.

The shelf shook from the impact. Various objects, among them a hanging chain and a large cardboard box, tipped precariously forward. Roman noticed a second before Collette did, but eventually they both turned their gazes upward; right at the moment the box tumbled from the shelf directly on course for Collette's face. Her eyes went wide.

"Oh, fuck me sidewa-"

Her words were stolen underneath the cascade of junk impacting her face; she dodged a sharpened drill successfully, but a hammer struck her directly in the forehead. She crumpled to the floor even as the rest of the various objects struck around her with a cacophony of pings and bangs.

Roman cringed in the aftermath. His heart was pounding. Collette groaned weakly, but did not rise, and he couldn't help but smile.

"Smooth moves, Prasina…"

He chuckled as he approached, but remained cautious. His foot still throbbed. He maneuvered, wincing, around several boxes, tools, and other miscellaneous objects to stand over Collette's pained sneer. A rapidly darkening bruise adorned her forehead.

"You…" she grimaced and growled, "Go fuck y… self… with a Goliath tusk-"

There was a resounding _thwack_ as Roman cracked Melodic Cudgel against Collette's skull, and she fell silent and still with her face set in an anguished scowl. Roman himself was in disbelief, even as he stood over the unconscious foe that had once been his ally. He swayed slightly and put a hand to his forehead. The adrenaline was fading, and in a fleeting moment he remembered he was inebriated and exhausted: not a good combination.

He sat against the nearly empty shelf and attempted to gather himself. Collette was too valuable to simply kill, especially now that she had been knocked out by what could only be explained away as dumb luck; an invaluable resource had practically fallen into his lap. But before she had been incapacitated, she had located him and attempted to capture or kill him, and under Giovane's orders. This made the lack of a reply from Neo all the more disconcerting, and furthermore…

They were being watched. Collette had known about Folly. Roman glared at his prisoner, and the various chains and industrial implements surrounding her, and knew he had to move; the Black Circle would spare no time, and certainly no mercy, to neither himself nor those he cared about.

Regardless, he took a moment to check his scroll, and it was just as he thought: nothing from Neo or Folly. He nudged a chain with his shoe as he rose with an angry sigh.

"Say, Collette," he growled, "Why don't you help me out here."

* * *

It burned.

It burned so pleasantly.

Folly's hand, gloved in black latex, dragged across her sore skin as the artist worked with her tongue between her lips. Electronic music was muddled by the buzzing of the needle.

"People always ask me: when did you get all those tattoos? You're so young!"

There was a brief moment of respite as Folly turned in her chair to dip her needle in one of several cups of ink, all meticulously measured, and Neo clenched and unclenched her fist as she waited for the pain to return.

"I was apprenticed to my mentor when I was 17," she continued, resuming her work on the inside of Neo's arm, "He didn't ask for money. I mean, how would a 17-year-old high school dropout pay for lessons from one of Vale's most respected tattoo artists? Nope…"

The artist popped the end of the word.

"All he asked for… was a canvas: I didn't decide on many of these. He said that if I was going to make a living stabbing people, even for art, I needed to know what it felt like… er, everywhere…"

She laughed nervously and dipped into her ink, "The worst wasn't actually the ribs like people say. For me, it was the throat: That's why I named the shop after it."

She pointed to the wildebeest on her neck and chuckled wistfully, "I cried like a bitch."

Neo nodded along with Folly's story. She stared at the ceiling, trying to focus on the pain for as long as it was there. Perhaps now she knew why Roman had so many of them. It made her feel grounded and peaceful, and right now it was the only thing keeping her from wondering why he hadn't shown yet.

"I'm sorry Roman hasn't show up yet; he did say he was going to be here, right?"

Neo nodded, trying not to let the worry show on her face. Folly shrugged.

"He probably just didn't want to see you sit it out better than he ever has; it would hurt his pride… we're almost done, by the way."

Neo didn't look. She wanted to see the design when it was finished, even if the temptation to peek was overwhelming. There was a moment occupied solely by the buzzing of the needle, and the accompanying pain.

"Thanks for letting me do this," Folly said, "Y'know… one day I'll retire, and I always thought: maybe I'll just do free tattoos to cover people's scars. If the only skill I have is stabbing people, then I would want the last tattoos I ever do to help people heal from their pain like this… y'know? Um, forget it. Here…"

The buzzing ceased, and Folly placed her needle aside. A gloved hand took Neo's wrist gently, and another wiped the tender skin with a moist wipe, stinging her sweetly.

"Tada! Finito!"

Though she attempted to contain herself, Neo's gaze was torn urgently to her arm. A strange feeling, one she could not quantify, filled her as the faded numbers that had marred her for years were nowhere in sight. Her first tattoo, her first proper one, was a colorful ice cream cone, stacked with three scoops of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. A few lively sprinkles surrounded them, while a shaped tear of crimson blood dripped from cone towards the veins on her wrist. The skin was raised and swelled, but her scars were gone.

She stared for a while, and wasn't sure how to make her gratitude known. She wanted to thank Folly not only for covering the memories, but for her steady, practiced application of pain, but the words would not find her.

So she looked at her, smiled, and bowed her head.

"Oh stop with the flattery, Neo," Folly grinned, "This is already on the house. Anyway, can I see your arm?"

She wound a tight bandage around the fresh art and sealed it with choice applications of tape.

"There's really no need for this," she explained, "Normally this would take a month to heal, but you aura people usually heal in a week."

She held up two fingers.

"Take this bandage off in two hours. Wash gently with soap and water twice a day, dry it with a paper towel, and don't freak out when it starts peeling off. It's going to itch like all hell, but if I see you scratching it, I _will_ stop you."

Neo grinned. She playfully held her nails to the wound, to Folly's greatly exaggerated distress.

"The sass! Don't you dare!" she admonished while suppressing a smile, "If you fuck with me I'll make Roman pay for the touch-up!"

Even as she smiled, seemingly carefree, Neo's thoughts darkened and a pressure, like a giant hand clutched her guts.

 _Roman_.

He was supposed to have shown up for her appointment, but her tattoo was finished and he was nowhere in sight; had he lost track of time at the bar? It wasn't like him.

Her scroll was charging upstairs, in the guestroom that had, for all intents and purposes, become their permanent residence, and so she set upon retrieving it as subtly and as socially-acceptably as possible. Folly was not nearly as adept at reading her as Roman was, as she considered him among other things her only method of accurate communication, but she still had to try and separate herself from the artist's presence in a way that would not trigger any suspicion.

She offered to help Folly clean up her implements, but was met with the predicted refusal, and so she proceeded upstairs. The guestroom was almost as clean as when they had first moved in, save for a filthy ashtray and a few stray pairs of socks that Roman hadn't picked up. In fact, he never cleaned.

Ever.

Neo briefly considered taking a moment to organize the room, but resisted: her dear, albeit messy, partner was the priority at the moment. Her scroll was face down on the night table, plugged into the wall, and a pulsing green light indicated its full charge. She retrieved it, opened its screen, and went to sit on the bed, but she never arrived. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the device, and opened a message from Roman with a quivering finger.

 _Return to the warehouse. Come armed and disguised. -Roman_

It had been sent almost three hours ago.

She stared at the message for several moments, until the letters started blurring together. A variety of scenarios played out in her mind, and incomplete plans followed them in fragmented pieces as her heartbeat began to sound in her ears. She needed to move, but how? Where would she start? Was Roman okay?

Was this her fault? If she hadn't left her scroll upstairs…

 _They always die._

She clenched her teeth. Her parasol was on the bed, and she took hold of its handle with iron resolve. She typed a message to Roman, short and to the point:

 _On my way._

Letters didn't come intuitively to her; she understood that they replicated language by shaping sounds, but writing her own was more cumbersome than reading.

Only one trick remained; she opened her scroll's camera, flipped its self-photo capability on but took no pictures. Her reflection stared back at her with a grim countenance, one eye brown and the other pink, and so she closed them and focused. It took her a few, precious seconds to calm herself and narrow her thoughts.

She felt a strange stinging behind her lids, prickling and burning. When she opened them her eyes were teary, but both irises were a deep, emerald green.

In spite of the circumstances, she couldn't help but smirk; not only was her control of her semblance growing, but her eyes looked almost exactly like Roman's.

Her multi-colored hair was arguably even more conspicuous, but she could disguise it in a moment, as simply maintaining her eye mask would take concentration for the first few minutes. She threw on her navy coat and debated telling Folly what was going on; if Roman was okay there was no point in worrying her gracious host, but if he wasn't, and she found on Neo was gone as well, she might do something rash, like call the cops, or attempt to come to their rescue.

Neo decided it was best to tell her. She gathered her parasol and her scroll and headed downstairs, back towards the shop. Thoughts of Roman daunted her footsteps, but she pressed onward, as they would do nothing but hinder her for now. She approached the door that led from the apartment to the shop. After a brief moment of uncertainty, she reached for the knob. Her fingers brushed the brass, but the sound of the shop door being thrown open sounded from the other side, and she froze.

"Hm? Gelb?" Folly's voice was muffled, but intelligible, "Shop's closed today, y'know."

"Oh? I'm sorry. My bad, Folly!"

The other voice, Gelb's, made Neo freeze. His smooth tones sounded apologetic, but there was something off about him that made her brows knit. Where had she heard that name before?

"I just need a moment to speak to you: urgent business. It won't take long."

"Oh! I see…"

Neo could picture Folly's uncomfortable expression, but if there was another customer in the shop, especially one mentioning "urgent business," she had to stay out of sight.

Which meant she couldn't stick around and wait for Folly to be available; Roman needed help, and she had to move now. Her hand retreated from the doorknob, and she padded upstairs. The voices of Folly and Gelb were still audible through the floorboards, but too muffled to understand. She opened the window in the guestroom, surveyed the street, and fell down onto the bags in the dumpster below.

 _Roman_ , _I'm coming_.

* * *

She didn't remember how speech had left her.

It was a fragment, like most of her memories a single shard of glass on the floor of a dusty attic. She could remember that once upon a time words had grazed her tongue; she'd had a voice, but she could not remember what it sounded like. The most painful part of being stripped of speech was not that she was crippled, but rather that she could not express her heart to Roman the way she wished to. Not until she found a way.

And if he was already dead, even as she padded through passersby, alleyways, and the shadows of the oncoming nightfall to reach him, she would never have the chance.

Their warehouse practice space looked as deserted as it always did as Neo approached. Her parasol was slung over her shoulder, and her blade drawn just a sliver from its sheath. Her camouflaged eyes darted left and right, scanning for movement as she had in the confines of The Maw.

She approached the warehouse side door and her pulse quickened; Roman still hadn't replied in the time it had taken her to arrive, and by now she expected to find his corpse when she entered their practice area. She hoped that if such ruin befell her life that at least his killer would still be present. That way, perhaps she could find a measure of solace as she turned their dying screams to gurgles.

She elbowed the door inwards with her blade poised. A grim leer darkened her face as she noted the single light bulb casting shadows on her surroundings from the center of the ceiling. It dangled directly above a humanoid figure seated in a solitary chair, their head hung seemingly unconscious.

Whoever they were, they were too small to be Roman, Neo realized with a mix of confusion and relief. Her parasol was held at her side, her footsteps deliberate as she came upon the seated figure. It was a woman, with pale, tattooed hands tied to the arms of the chair with frayed rope. The red-eyed Grimm on her hands identified her as Black Circle.

The timing was too convenient, Neo figured; that this woman would be here at the same time Gelb had arrived at Folly's shop…

"Neo!"

She whirled, blade drawn and inches away from Roman's chest. He stumbled backwards, hands raised.

"Ah! Hey, watch where you point that thing!"

Relief flooded her, and she lowered her weapon; Roman was alive, though his white coat was not present. Her heartbeat softened in the afterglow of their reunion, but as it faded, Roman's carefree attitude was sharply noticed.

"So you _did_ get my message," he straightened his scarf, "Sorry, if you replied I-"

Neo held up her scroll with a growl and Roman flinched.

"Hey wait! I had to lie down for a little bit! I went to the bar for a drink and then Collette here showed up, and look: It's a long story, but…"

Neo kept her eyes on Collette, the unconscious, alleged python Faunus, as Roman recounted a tale to her of drunken mind games, drunken fighting, and what could only be attributed to pure luck. When he was finished, she shook her head. She could forgive him resting and missing her message, especially given his depleted aura, but if he hadn't decided to go the bar none of this would have happened.

Or, perhaps Collette would have followed him back to Folly's and killed them all in their sleep. She was, though she was loath to admit it, just glad he had survived.

"…I'm sorry I missed your tattoo," Roman said following an uncomfortable silence, "You'll have to show me when you take the bandage off."

She looked at him with a nod and offered a small smile.

 _You are forgiven._

"Anyway, to business…"

Roman retrieved a bag from a workbench that clinked as he handled it. Neo noted his coat slung over a chair

"Collette here," he began, indicating their prisoner, "Knows things I want to know, namely the location of Giovane. One thing they teach you in the Black Circle is how to get people to tell you things that they… otherwise wouldn't. Observe."

He stood before Collette, pulled her head up by a fistful of her black hair, and drove his gloved fist into her cheek.

The woman made no sound at first, but her still fingers splayed and condensed into fists as she was struck. Roman stepped back as she came to, eyes blinking in pain and confusion as she groaned.

"Rise and shine Collette! You have some good dreams?"

Roman stood still and allowed her a few moments to gather herself. Her limbs fought against her frayed restraints, and she turned her face up at Roman in a snarl, squinting at the harsh light. She opened her mouth to speak but was silenced as Roman threw a fist into her stomach. Another soon followed, and she doubled over, coughing and sputtering.

"How about now? You awake now, snake?"

"P…" Collette coughed hoarsely before fixing Roman with a glare, "Python… and here I… thought you were a gentleman, Roman."

Roman simply looked amused and crossed his arms. Collette appeared to take first notice of Neo and grinned.

"Men these days…" she chuckled before looking back up at Roman, "He didn't even buy me dinner before tying me up."

Roman uncrossed his arms with a shake of his head. There was a blur of motion as he snapped his fist into Collette's smirking face accompanied by the cracking of cartilage. Neo winced as Collette clenched her teeth and seethed in anguish, crimson leaking from her nostrils. She could tell from his demeanor that Roman was merely warming up; the way he circled her was just like the way he had approached the fallen Top Dog, right before slamming his head into a table.

He stopped behind her, and placed his hands on either of her shoulders.

"Where's Gio?"

The question had no humor. Neo waited for Collette's answer as the woman sniffed angrily and pursed her bloodied lips. Her eyes searched the room.

"He just checked in to his hotel…" she said, "The address is one-twelve _gofuckyourself_ avenue-"

Roman moved to hit her again, but Collette snapped her jaws shut just shy of his fingers, and he recoiled with a shout. Neo saw his face take on a shade of red as Collette snickered, her lips drawn back over a pair of sharp fangs.

"Careful…" she laughed, "I'm known to bite…"

Roman looked over his hand, as if making sure his fingers were all still accounted for, then took a deep breath. He seemed to lose all interest in his prisoner, slowly removing and balling up his scarf with a stoic expression.

"What? That's it?" Collette goaded. Ignored, she turned to Neo.

"Is he like this to you?" she sneered, "You must get so bored."

Neo watched as Roman took his balled up scarf in one hand and turned towards their prisoner.

"You weren't always this much of a bore, Roman! I remember when you were wil- _guhh!_ "

Her hands struggled in the ropes as Roman forced his scarf into her mouth midsentence. She lurched, gagging and struggling fruitlessly against her bonds, and it was close to a minute until Roman stepped back, finished. Collette's eyes were furious and bloodshot, glowering at him as she breathed heavily through bleeding nostrils; her fangs were visible over the scarf that prevented her from closing her lips, even slightly.

Neo wondered how Roman was planning on getting her to give up any information by blocking her from speaking, but the way he moved assured her he knew exactly what he was doing, like he had done this many times before. He stood behind Collette again, snatching her hair and holding her head still with a sinister chuckle.

"You almost got me," he said, "If I remember correctly you have venom in those fangs, don't you? I suppose I should have taken the proper precautions when you were out cold, so you can blame me for this…"

Still holding the seething Collette still, he fixed Neo with a single, gleaming eye.

"Neo: Pliers, in the bag."

Collette made a muffled, angry sound of protest. Neo blanked for a moment; many memories layered over one another in an instant, and all of them of pain. She vividly recalled dissecting Russet, and the smell of blood that was at once in her memories and leaking from Collette's nose. She felt hot as she nodded to Roman, and made for the aforementioned bag of tools.

"I was going to do it myself, but you looked a little bored. Just, try not to make a mess like you did with our friend Russet, got it?"

Only then did Neo realize she was grinning, pliers in hand as she looked back up at Roman. In the short time since they'd been introduced, Collette looked genuinely afraid. Neo approached, testing the pliers in her hand. The metal made disconcerting squeaks, and Collette attempted to speak past the scarf in her mouth.

"Shhhhh," Roman placed a finger to her teeth, "You should have told me where Gio was _before_ trying to bite me. Consider your options carefully when I ask you again."

Neo stepped up to her victim. Even sitting, Collette's eyes were still higher than her own, but her bound limbs were powerless to interfere.

"Neo's just going to get those fangs out of the way, and then you can tell me everything," Roman continued, "Don't look so scared, it will be over quick."

Roman winked, and that was her cue. Collette fixed Neo with a glare, and she could see her pupils shaking. She took a moment to size her victim up, just as she had Russet; there would only be one moment in time for the pain that was to come, and she wanted to savor it. She trailed a finger along her victim's shaking hands, up her arm, across her neck and along her jawline, half smiling as she mused.

How fickle of fate, to teach her so dearly of suffering, for so many years, then turn her from victim to unchecked harbinger. Perhaps her life had been an education she required; how would she teach others of pain if she had not been shaped by it, and if she were not intimately familiar with its twisted beauty? Collette was a stranger to her, but as she took in the woman's choked pants, the quake of her bound limbs, and the unfocused grey that seemed to shroud her eyes, she felt like she had known her for years.

She flashed her victim a grin, tested her pliers one more time, and shrugged her small shoulders.

 _How unfortunate to be you_.

The smell of blood brought back memories. If she were to close her eyes, she might have seen everything all over again: the veil of bloodied shadows, her earliest nightmares, drawn back over the slaughter in the halls of The Maw, backed by the melody of Russet's final, distressed prayers. She found her task more difficult, more nuanced, than slicing a man apart; Collette wriggled and squirmed as she tried to find purchase, but there was precious little room for her to maneuver, and eventually she had her prey cornered.

The process took several minutes, and soon Neo found her brow slicked with sweat from the exertion, but her efforts brought forth panicked breath, scourged knuckles scraping trails into the chair arms, and the choked, harmonious sounds of anguish.

And she bared her teeth in the glee it brought her.

When she was through, Roman pulled his scarf free. It was stained with blood, and he held it away from him, muttering about the prices for dry cleaning. Neo wondered what other tools the bag contained.

"I don't know about a freak like you," Roman started, balling up his scarf and placing it on a bench, "But humans have thirty-two teeth… Neo looks like she enjoyed herself, so I'm sure she'd be up for some more dentistry if you still don't feel like talking."

Collette's fingers were shaking. Her hair was matted to her face with a mixture of blood, tears, and sweat, and two gaps where her fangs used to be oozed a purple, viscous liquid that Neo assumed to be venom. She hadn't seemed to hear him.

This visibly irritated Roman. He rolled his eyes.

"So… where's Gio?"

"The itsy, bitsy… spider…" Collette's voice trembled.

"…Did you hear me!?"

"Up the… water spout…"

"Hey!"

Roman grabbed the bloodstained collar of Collette's jacket and throttled her.

"Giovane!" He roared, "Where is he!? What's his damn game!?"

Collette's eyes widened, but she stared past Roman's face, at something on the ceiling. Neo checked above them, but there was nothing there.

"I…" she pleaded, "I'll be a good girl! I promi-"

He cut her off with a punch, aimed directly where her teeth had been removed and yanked her back up by the collar.

"Three months," he spat, and some landed on Collette's bloodied lips, "Three months I breathed in shit! I lost everything!"

Collette blinked; she looked as if she had abruptly awoken from a dream.

"Where is he?"

Roman clenched and unclenched his fist at his side, "This is your last chance; before I have Neo cut out your eyes, and feed them to you."

"He never told me!" Collette shouted, cringing in pain as her gums spurted blood, "It… it was a lie! I don't know where to find him! I was just… following orders!"

Roman didn't move. Curious, Neo approached. She squeezed her pliers together, and Collette flinched before continuing.

"They said you compromised the Circle…" she said, sniffing heavily, "We rounded up the others, but I was supposed to bag you, you alone, and leave you for Gio. He didn't explain!"

"You…" Roman trailed off, "You knocked me out… at the docks, with Ryuko."

"And now you coming back…" Collette nodded, "Is my mess… my mistake."

" _Was_ your mess…" Roman said, an eye on Collette's bindings, "Did he tell you about The Maw?"

Collette shook her head, "I thought they were going to drown you in the harbor."

Roman stepped back and turned away. He put a hand to his brow, thinking. Neo watched Collette for any movement, but the woman just closed her eyes and breathed. Her lips moved silently.

She couldn't help but wonder how Folly was doing; it had been almost an hour since she had left, they had spent at least 15 minutes interrogating Collette, and she had not received a text from the artist. Surely Gelb had concluded his business by now, and Folly was wondering where the both of them were.

"None of this makes sense…" Roman finally concluded, "Maybe there's still something you're not telling me..."

He fished a scroll out of his pocket, not his own, painted black and decorated with a dangling, chibi King Taijitu charm. Collette laughed mirthlessly, "You know everything's encrypted. Evidence is deleted… You won't even be able to call Giovane."

"Yeah? We'll see…"

Roman spun on his heel, "So? What's your passcode? Give it up, unless you want Neo to get _creative_."

Collette looked fearfully in her direction, and she snapped her pliers together twice. The woman looked back at Roman with a frown.

"Where did you find this smiling Hell-harpy anyway?"

"Where do you think?" Roman knelt down, grinning, "In Hell, naturally."

The scroll in Roman's hand buzzed against his glove, and all eyes focused on its interruption in abrupt tandem. The blue light at the top of the device pulsed steadily, indicating a received message, and the screen lit up. No one spoke.

Neo maneuvered her way behind him, trying to read the screen. The letters were small, but after three times, she was sure she had read them correctly.

( _1) new media message from: Gelb Marigold._

From her angle, Collette was unable to see the screen. She looked at Roman.

"Four-three-three-one," she said.

Roman eyed her blankly. She met his eyes for a few, solid seconds. Still knelt, he entered the code Collette had supplied, and the new message took up the screen.

The warehouse was silent. Neo stared for several moments. She was unable to look away, if only to make sure that this was not just another nightmare. The image of a severed, feminine hand on the screen shook nigh imperceptibly in Roman's grip. The stylized, purple rose that adorned it was stained with a speckled bloodstain.

After several tense seconds Roman's thumb slowly, hesitantly scrolled to the text underneath the grisly image.

 _Bitch won't talk, but they were here. Stayed upstairs. Show this little warning to Roman, will you? I'm looking forward to hearing him justify this. – Gelb_

Neo didn't want to look at Roman's face. She didn't know if she could. Her still fresh tattoo throbbed under her sleeve, but it wasn't the same pain. Gelb had arrived when she had still been in the building.

What had she done?

At first, it sounded as if Collette had started weeping. Her fangless, bleeding mouth was split in a wide smile, her shoulders bouncing with light, choked snickers. She closed her eyes, and her snickering rose in intensity to tearful laughter as she shook her head from side to side.

Roman rose as she continued unabated. He didn't meet Neo's eyes, and a small part of her was as grateful as the rest of her was hurt. His face was set in stone as he returned Collette's scroll to his pocket, but his one visible eye seemed to shine under the solitary light.

Collette's laughter rose to a mad cackle, staining her clothes with blood from her nose and mouth as her shoulders heaved. She seemed at once in pain and ecstasy. Roman was calm and deliberate as he removed a cigar from his pocket. It too, like the picture on Collette's scroll, vibrated slightly.

"You know… how this works…" Collette managed through a fit of laughter, "They'll take her apart, piece by piece, every half hour… until you show up… on your hands and fucking knees!"

She paused, wheezing to hold back a new onslaught of cackling. Roman ignored her, and calmly lit his cigar. The thick, fruity smell soon filled the space. He met Neo's eyes for a brief moment, but quickly looked away. She was glad he had first.

"Club Uforia," Collette breathed, "The usual spot. Own up, Roman; be a gentleman and turn yourself in… make sure dear Folly can still masturbate when this is all said and d-augh!"

Neo hadn't even seen it coming. With one hand, Roman continued to inhale his cigar, while Collette's eyes rolled back in her head as her gums chewed on the glove between her teeth. The forks of her tongue protruded from his grip, thrashing desperately.

She lurched several times, blood leaking from the corners of her strained, pale lips as Roman worked leisurely on his cigar. He seemed to see only its tip as it smoldered. When he finally spoke, it was in a voice Neo almost didn't recognize.

"It's pretty easy to piss me off, Collette," he said. He puffed on his cigar as she could only gag and struggle in response.

"What's not easy, is surviving long enough once you do to beg my forgiveness."

He let his cigar fall to his side, and looked straight ahead. At nothing.

"Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control, I don't have the time to give you the death you deserve," he tugged suddenly on Collette's tongue, pulling her head closer to him, "I'll take care of that later, on my honor, but while you wait here for me to get back, take a lesson from this…"

He braced his foot against Collette's chair. Tears ran from her eyes, but he didn't see them.

"…You talk too much."


	13. Stand

Uforia was located under a freeway at the edge of the industrial sector. A massive, multi-story building made from brick; the kind that the factories had all been built around. This particular one had once been an apartment complex, but every arched window was blacked out, and the floors inside long since knocked down. From the outside, only the audible, rhythmic thumping of bass, and the line of people standing outside hinted at anything more than a building condemned.

Roman stood across the street, smoking a cigar he had started in a taxi that had since sped off into the night, and Neo stood leaned against the nearby street sign, eyes downcast. Her parasol was open above her head, though there was neither sun nor rain. Roman barely remembered the ride there, only that it had consisted partially of the taxi driver's protests as he had lit up in the confines of the vehicle, and their sudden hush when he'd removed his gloves.

He'd been inside his head the entire way here, planning and scheming through a fog of rage and guilt, and now that Uforia was across the street, whatever he had come up with would have to do.

They had eleven minutes. One way or another, at the end of those eleven minutes, or any time before, there would be blood. He scanned the line of people awaiting entry, a substantial gathering of teenagers, junkies, club scene veterans and other misfits, and a single, imposing bouncer in a suit and tie.

He rolled his cigar between his fingers.

"Neo."

The girl snapped to attention. Her fingers drummed nervously on the handle of her weapon, but her eyes were focused. Roman gestured down the street, past the line of people awaiting entrance to the club.

"Prisoners…" he swallowed quickly, "Prisoners aren't brought in through the front entrance. They're taken around the back, to the basement… just look for the guards."

He focused his attention on her.

"They're looking for me," he said bitterly, "If I go in through the front entrance, they'll think they have me. They'll be waiting for me, but this way, I can stall them; I'll grab their attention, while you slip in the back, get Folly, and get out."

The look in Neo's eyes was obvious, even to someone who didn't know her.

 _I'm not leaving you._

"Get as far away as possible," Roman pushed. When Neo didn't look convinced, he forced a smile, "Don't worry; I know how to put on a show."

Neo looked at the club. Roman watched with her as a patron was admitted entrance. She pushed off the street sign, folded her parasol, and Roman felt the wind as she walked briskly past him. She threw a glance back at him, but it was brief, and he couldn't interpret its subtleties before she turned away again, her footsteps carrying her forward with purpose.

He sighed, and crushed his cigar beneath his heel. He had already been careless enough for Folly to get hurt, so even if he personally believed Neo could do it, was he making the right call, or just being blindly overconfident? He didn't know.

Right or not, it was the only option; a gamble he wouldn't have taken if he'd had any other cards to play.

He crossed the street, his neck tattoo clearly visible without his scarf. The first few patrons in line began to complain but quickly fell silent, as he walked directly to the bouncer, bypassing the line entirely. The large man took note of him with crossed arms. His head was shaved, and the tattoos that protruded from the collar of his shirt on his thick neck were not indicative of Black Circle allegiance.

Roman approached him looking straight into his black eyes, and the closest patron in line, a teenage girl dressed in colorful rave attire, took an unsubtle step back.

"Baster, long time no see," Roman addressed with a tip of his hat, "Won't you let me in? It's urgent."

"They're looking for you, Roman."

Baster spoke in grave, gravelly tones. Behind him, the pulsing bass reverberated against the brick building.

"I'm aware," Roman said. Baster glanced at the line.

"They say you did some terrible things," he said, "Before you were, y'know… _dead_ for three months…"  
Roman lifted a brow but stayed silent.

"Well…" the large man sighed, "Did you?"

"Nope… but I'm about to."

"…I see."

There was a tense pause, and a car drove by along the street.

"You should tell them the club's closed," Roman pointed to the line over his shoulder, "Take the night off, have a beer… maybe find a new job."

Baster nodded silently.

"Make it quick, Roman."

"Oh, this is going to be anything but."

"…Right."

To the line's audible protest, Baster stepped aside, and Roman walked past him into the club. As the sounds of the town receded under the music's presence, he intended to spare no one else.

He emerged from a set of black, glass doors, and he braced; an auditory storm of massive bass, distorted synths, and sizzling, filtered vocals dominated the entire floor before him. A series of neon-lit walkways bordered the central dance floor, squared off by four columns that pulsed and morphed their colors with the music. A thick crowd moved like ocean waves, occasionally illuminated by the flash of a blinding white light, and in the distance, a DJ wearing a neon teal, twin-tailed wig and an opera mask oversaw the scene behind a set of turntables.

Roman descended the stairs. The sights and sounds of Uforia were familiar to him, as he'd spent most of time in the lower ranks of the Circle peddling Reef and Black Sap in its darkest corners. The Circle had purchased one of Vale's condemned apartment complexes, knocked down the floors, and converted the entire building into a multi-leveled nightclub; it was a legitimate business establishment, with all the proper licenses and deed registered with the city council, but beneath the lights and the sounds was a hub of Circle activity, where the syndicate cultivated their contraband, and imprisoned those most troublesome to their ventures. That was where Folly would be.

Roman waded through the crowd, sidestepping club-goers of every demographic, their minds altered on the substance of their choice. The pungent smell of Reef permeated the space, the flashes of light were disorienting, and the floor was comprised of polished glass, which would become slick if painted with blood. Familiar or not, it was a tactical nightmare. The Circle had enforcers patrolling the entire place, there was zero doubt in his mind, and it was only seconds before he saw them: Among the bodies, two of them moved with purpose. They were like ships carving through crashing tides. He couldn't see their faces, but he felt their movements as they circled him in the crowd, closing in on their prey from two opposite directions.

Perfect.

He moved for the bar on the club's left side; above the heads of the crowd, many of which were shorter than him, he could see the backlit shelves laden with bottles of liquor beyond the dance floor. Mentally he avoided calculating anything but his approach; it wouldn't matter if he knew exactly how much time Folly had left, his only option was to trust Neo. Whether he lost them both, or neither of them, was up to her, and the only way he could help her was by drawing the Circle out to exactly where he wanted them.

Navigating the crowd was difficult, however, and as he struggled to avoid the limbs and bodies of the heedless patrons around him he could feel the Circle getting closer. There were four of them, as he saw them move from of the corners of his eyes. Beneath his coat and gloves he was already sweating, and his hair was matting uncomfortably to his forehead. The bar was getting closer, and as he approached he realized he had already left the dance floor, but was still caught within the crowd. This was a good night for business, even by Uforia's standards, but the large amount of people was not working to his advantage; at this rate, he would be bumped into, _accidentally_ , and poisoned with a pen.

He pushed for the bar, and as soon as he broke from the crowd he hastily took the only open spot: between a young man who had obviously been drinking for a while, and a woman who had just received her drink. The bartender, tattooed and visibly high on Reef, nodded quickly to Roman.

"Battlin' Jack's," he said. The bartender leaned in, and Roman repeated the order in a shout before he nodded in confirmation. The drink was just a necessary device that was instrumental in his plan. Behind him, he was certain the Circle was still in hot pursuit, practically salivating in anticipation of his blood.

"Heeeeyy," the man to his right slurred. Roman bristled; the man had been uncomfortably close to his ear. If he hadn't been trying to appear as unaware and relaxed as possible he would have knocked him cold.

"What."

"Hav-Haven't I sheen you before shomewhere!?"

He slurred every 'S' in his drunken stupor. Roman glanced at the man: Black hair, bleary eyes, a large tattoo of a snake coiling around his ear and neck, and gulping at a glass of whiskey. Behind him, he could feel someone making a line for the bar, slowly and methodically.

"I remember!" The man slammed the counter with a wide grin, "You were at the Golden Roshe! I held a gun to your fashe! You looked sho shcared when Bai took you down to the bashement!"

Had it been another day, another time, Roman would have genuinely would have found the information amusing.

"Oh? You Hong Zhao?"

"Heeey! We're all friendsh here!" the man picked up his glass and took a swig, spilling some on his loosened shirt and red tie, "No worriesh! Jusht... jusht don't tell Bai okay!?"

The words traveled through one ear and out the other; in the reflection of the man's glass, Roman saw them: framed by a flash of light, the distorted image of a figure approaching. He looked sideways at the Hong Zhao enforcer, now less of a threat then those he had once called family, but it wasn't out of interest, as his new angle allowed him to track the assassin's movements with his peripherals. He watched them dart out of his field of vision and grinned.

"So, why wade into Circle territory?" He asked the man.

"Well, I could be ashking you the shame thing," the man pointed a finger too close to Roman's face, "Didn't they want you dead? Huh!?"

"Yeah, something like that."

The man laughed, "You got ballsh! You got shome sherioush ballsh!"

He took another drink, and Roman was aware of the Circle assassin getting closer; they were mere feet away. He could feel them moving behind him, as the crowd displaced around them.

"What are you drinking?" Roman asked.

The man slammed his glass down on the bar. "Amberwood, on the rocksh!"

Roman sighed and watched the glass come down, and the reflection of his stalker's eyes flashed for a split second. In the Hong Zhao's drunken haze, he failed to notice as Roman stole and slid his glass closer to the space between them.

"Really? Shame…" he laughed, and shook his head. "…What a waste of whiskey."

He didn't turn around. He didn't have to. He reached his arm back, grabbed a fistful of the assassin's hair, and threw their face into the glass.

* * *

Neo's heels clicked briskly on the sidewalk. Her parasol was folded, and gripped in one hand. She was aware of how much more it stood out on a clear night. She passed no one as she circled the building, on the lookout for the guards Roman had mentioned, and so she walked in silence.

She wished it were anything but; her mind was tormenting her, and she would have given anything to drown her thoughts.

 _You wanted this_.

Her path brought her to an alleyway behind the massive building, and she slowed her approach, to quiet her steps, and proceeded down the path.

 _You let this happen. You could have snuck in and killed Gelb and none of this would have happened, but you ran. You ran because you were scared. You're even scared now. You're always scared._

She clenched her teeth. The alley smelled like trash and cigarettes, but the stench felt distant, like it was drifting through someone else's nostrils. A single light illuminated an area ahead, partially hidden behind a large dumpster.

 _She was so nice to you, but you didn't even care._

She had minutes to save Folly, to atone for her selfishness. She had to be as clear and sharp as ever to pull it off, but she was tired, her aura was still recovering from her practice and her healing tattoo, and her thoughts were eating her from the insides outward. She hissed, trying to focus as best she could.

 _Even now, you're thinking it: All you care about it is that maybe, without her hand, Roman will stop fucking her. You selfish, scared, little slut-_

She stumbled, and bit back a scream of rage between her teeth. She had to focus. She had to silence herself. So she could save Folly and save Roman and justify her existence for a little while longer. The light was directly above a small door covered with torn posters, only a few feet ahead, and as well as they only entrance, it had to be the entrance she was looking for. It was now or never, for everyone's sake.

She sank behind the large dumpster and wasted no time, flicking open her weapon just a few inches. She rolled up her sleeve with her teeth, her mind screaming all the while.

 _How is Neo any different from Muffin? You coward. You never change._

She growled again, held her knuckle to her blade, and whipped her skin against the weapon. It burned, and her eyes watered in relief.

 _Shut. Up._

The blade was not meant for cutting, but its edges were still sharp, and a single trail of blood trickled cleanly from her finger. She could always explain that she'd sustained it in a fight, and that was if Roman even questioned a finger cut after attempting a rescue mission in the heart of Black Circle territory.

She repeated the motion once, twice, until the door around the corner swung open and two voices sounded forth. She froze, hunkered behind the dumpster out of sight. Her heart pounded, and she hoped no one could hear it.

"... Just don't know if I can do the other one," one of the voices, a young man, was saying as the door swung closed behind them, "I'm still sick."

"Calm down and have a smoke," a squeaky female voice said, "I've seen so much worse than this."

"Thanks…" the first voice breathed, and the odor of cheap cigarette drifted around the corner. There was a pause, and Neo stayed still, calculating her next move.

The man piped up again, "You think Roman'll show?"

"Hm? What? You hoping Roman will come for his damsel so you can slither out of dismemberment duty?" The woman's voice dripped with ennui.

"Well, no! I just-"

"Tough break. Roman's a prick; he's probably looking for a ticket out of Vale right now. Like it or not: we'll be taking her apart until the sun comes up… no, what I want to know is who put Collette up to this. Like, did she really have to kidnap the best tattoo artist in the city? Who's going to finish my stomach now?"

"I thought that was Gelb?"

"Of course it was, Gelb's wanted Folly for years. Collette just planned this shitshow, and now she's not even answering her damned scroll."

"…Wanted?"

"Yeah… come to think of it, maybe we won't have to cut her up. You know, personally…"

There was a pause. Neo knew she was running out of time, but she couldn't just rush them; taking on two of them at once would be difficult, and while she waited for an opening there was always a chance they would let more info slip.

"Personally… I'm pretty sure Gelb just wanted to nab Folly for himself," the woman continued in an accusing murmur, "Think about it: even if Roman shows up, what are we going to do with her afterwards? Let her _go?_ We cut her damned hand off. She's a liability now, and he always hated Roman anyway."

The man laughed nervously, "Well, you did say he was a prick."

"He is," the woman said, "But Gelb is like Roman, minus the charm and with half the dick."

"Uh, wh-wha-?"

"I slept with him once," the woman sighed wistfully, "Roman, I mean. Whatever, we were fucked up…"

The buzzing of a scroll caused the woman to trail off. There was a brief pause, and Neo ground her teeth, her cheeks hot.

The woman let out a sharp laugh. "Gelb just texted me! Guess who decided to show up?"

"Roman?" the young man sounded both hopeful and anxious.

"You bet! Looks like Folly got saved by the bell after all."

"Well… what do we d-"

The woman sighed, "You know what? I'm gonna go back up Gelb so we can clean up this mess and go home. You just stay here and finish your smoke; you're looking a little pale."

"Thanks, Sascha," the man said, "I'll be along in a little."

"Yeah, yeah…"

Sascha's squeaky voice disappeared behind the sound of the door closing, and the man let out a long sigh of relief.

Neo listened for a few more seconds; her legs and feet were sore from remaining still, and her blade was still drawn. When she was sure the man would be alone for the foreseeable future, she prepared to rise and attack him. She tensed in preparation…

"Hello?" The man said, "Yeah, it's me sweetie."

Neo furrowed her brows. The man was talking on a scroll.

"Did you take your vitamins?" he said. After a pause, "…Just wanted to let you know I'll be a little late tonight."

Neo twisted silently from behind the dumpster as the man focused on the call, and she caught her first glimpse of him; his exposed forearms, uncovered by the rolled-up sleeves of a black, patched duster, bore tattoos similar to Roman's, and his brown hair was tied back in a ponytail as he faced away from her. He was quite short, barely a foot taller than her.

She took her time sheathing her blade, and leisurely approached her unaware quarry, mindful of the sound of her heels. He had a cigarette in one hand and a scroll in the other, defenseless.

"I know I said that, but daddy has to work," the man continued. There was another long pause, and Neo heard a young girl's voice chattering indistinctly on the other line. She wondered if she had ever sounded similar, once upon a time.

"I'll see if I can go home early… feed the fish, okay…? I love you buttercup, see you soon."

The young man pocketed his scroll. He turned halfway before stopping to find Neo's parasol resting inches away. She turned the dial on the handle with deliberate clicks, and the blade gleamed under the single, harsh light as it stopped an inch from his body.

"…Oh, shit."

Neo gestured to the door. Neither her blade nor her piercing leer fell.

"Y-you… must be here for Folly, right?"

The man faced her slowly, his hands held open and spread. His fingers shook.

"It's unlocked…" he breathed with wide, blue eyes, "Look, that… did you hear that? That was my daughter on the other end. I…"

Neo raised an eyebrow. It took her by surprise however, when the man shut his eyes, tightly as a single tear ran from the corner of his left.

"Just let me go alright!?" he choked out, "I'll give you everything I have on me and I'll run away! I-I didn't want to do it! They made me! I hate this job…"

Neo nodded. She beckoned with her free hand, her blade still poised, and watched every movement as the man emptied his wallet. He dropped several blank credit cards, as well as one hundred in lien, a ring of keys, and a small jar.

"Th-the small key," he pointed with a careful, shaking finger, "That's the one you can use to get Folly out. Just let me g-"

Neo shook her head. She held her hand to her ear.

"…My scroll?"

She nodded firmly.

"Seriously…?" Despite his whining, the man withdrew his scroll and lightly tossed it over, where Neo caught and whipped it against the wall, shattering it in a shower of sparks. The man flinched with a surprised yelp.

He opened his mouth to speak. After several seconds of silence Neo smiled humorlessly.

 _No backup for you. I'd start running._

The man backpedaled cautiously. He turned into a jog, and then a full on sprint in the opposite direction. Neo watched him trip over a garbage bag, cursing in a panic, before disappearing around the corner, and only then lowered her weapon. She was not a monster. Not entirely.

Alone, and running short on time she opened the door, drawing back the blade in her parasol; it would only prove cumbersome in the close quarters she now found herself in. The door closed and sealed her in a dimly lit, undecorated corridor. A pungent odor permeated the walls, mostly cement and old wood, and the way ahead was lit with fluorescent bulbs.

She scowled; it reminded her of The Maw, and all the emotions that came with. She focused on the pulse of the bass that shook the walls with every beat. It was rhythmic and predictable, and as she breathed she could almost synchronize its rhythm with the throbbing of her knuckle wounds, and the beating of her heart.

She proceeded with quick but light steps. She checked every corner with her parasol at the ready, but the narrow corridors were empty of life. Eventually they opened up into a larger basement area, what appeared to be a series of rooms arranged next to one another in a square formation, as she noticed two doorways she could proceed through in the current room she found herself in. Unmarked boxes cluttered the room along with crates of liquor bottles. Though it was fortunate that she had not encountered any security, the lack of personnel worried her. She'd expected at least some guards, so they were either lying in wait, or they were occupied with Roman. She had to hurry.

She noticed purple light from within one of the doorways, and navigated her surroundings to a second room full of long, harshly lit tables. Twisting, barbed plants grew under heated lamps, their long vines curling around the table legs and down to the floor. She studied them as she walked among them, their leaves oozing a viscous, black liquid. The sight sent chills down her spine; the plants looked unnatural, as if mutilated out of scorn, or brought to life from a madman's dream. She quickened her footsteps.

The next room was full of tools and devices that looked equally suitable for either botany or bodily mutilation. Several workstations were lit by computer screensavers, and occupied by smaller hideous plants and beakers of black ooze, but the only sign of any recent occupants were some empty beer bottles in the corners. If time had not been of the essence, Neo would have smashed the equipment the Circle had set up in the room; she wasn't sure exactly what its purpose was, but it looked important and time-consuming to set up.

She uncomfortably retraced her steps back to the first room with the crates, and she noticed her palms were slipping on her weapon with sweat. The air was heavy and thick, and she could hear her own breath becoming labored. The remaining doorway was halfway cluttered by a mountain of crates, and she approached ready for an ambush.

Solid red light cast a shadow against a wall of concrete as she rounded the crates, and she paused. The shadow against the wall was of a hunched figure in a sitting position, lifting a head of messy hair.

"…Back already…?"

 _Folly._

A chill raced up Neo's spine as the voice she'd been searching for laughed humorlessly. She rounded the crates entirely and faced Folly before she lost the nerve. She was hunched over in a wooden chair, a black blindfold tied around her head under her disheveled hair. Her wrists were bound in place, but only her left hand was pale and still. Her right wrist was obscured in the low, red lighting.

Neo hurried to her side as fast as she could, checking the corners of the room for an ambush. Her boots clacked on the cement floor, and Folly lifted her head as she approached. Smeared makeup and bruises discolored the lower half of her face.

"Sascha, huh…?" she laughed disdainfully, "What? The new guy get queasy or something? What a joke…"

Her voice was hoarse. Neo took one look at the stump of Folly's right wrist. It was bandaged and smelled burnt; they had cauterized the wound. She was relieved she didn't have to do it herself, but the thought that Folly was even still conscious was at once admirable, and disquieting.

She reached for the blindfold around the artist's head, and hoped Folly didn't try to bite her.

"Say something, bitch," Folly snarled, "Or just cut it off already… I don't have all day…"

Neo let the cloth fall aside, and Folly blinked her right eye in the harsh light, her left swollen shut. Neo let her adjust, checking behind them briefly for any sneak attacks. She could still hear the music from upstairs pulsing faintly through the ceiling.

When she looked back, Folly's expression had softened. Her lips parted slowly in disbelief.

"…Neo?"

It pained her to see Folly like this, to look upon the evidence of her own cowardice, but Neo gave her the best smile she could muster, and quickly went to work on the buckles holding her limbs with the proper key.

"You came for me…" she chuckled softly, "You know, exercise is bad for… for a healing tattoo."

Her voice faltered, and Neo focused on freeing her from her binds. She was careful with her right wrist, minding the bandage. She brushed it by accident, and own wrist tingled uncomfortably.

Once she was free Folly stood. She cradled her stump with hunched shoulders.

"It… burns," she whispered, "But I can walk… Neo, thank you."

Neo waved away her words. She held up a finger and took a look around the interrogation area; she wanted to look for anything useful the Circle might have left behind before they left. All she found of note were horrifying tools of pain scattered across a nearby table, but the variety of blades and instruments were tossed haphazardly on top of one another. Perhaps they'd hurried after Roman once he'd drawn their attention; it would explain the absence of any guards patrolling the basement level.

"Um, Neo…?" Folly said, "What… are you doing?"

Without realizing it, Neo had already started aligning the wayward tools on the table parallel, when a white piece of paper flashed between two serrated knives. She snatched the offending piece of paper instantly, and found a crude drawing of a Heptagon in pen at the top. There were words written on it as well, but combined with her time spent away from reading, and the red lighting in the room, the note was impossible to decipher.

"Neo, is Roman here? They're after him; you shouldn't have come."

Neo pocketed the note and nodded apologetically to Folly. She pointed to the ceiling, and then to the exit of the room.

"…Yeah, I'll follow you."

She beckoned for Folly to stay close, and retraced her steps. At the central storage room she checked her scroll, but there were no messages from Roman. She knew he'd drawn out their enemies when Sascha had left the alley entrance practically unguarded, and it had been some time; she needed to get Folly out and go back for him.

None of them were dying here. Not tonight. Not ever again.

* * *

The bystanders didn't notice immediately. It took a few seconds before the closest witnesses gasped in revulsion and shock, pushing against those around them to escape the scene. Panic spread steadily through the crowd while the assassin, surrounded by blood and glass, thrashed upon the ground sightless and screaming.

Roman didn't look away. He spun on his seat, and rose with deliberate movements. The drunken Hong Zhao beside him emptied the contents of his stomach across the bar. He stood over the assassin; he was a fox faunus, young and inexperienced, as his minimal tattoos and sloppy technique both indicated. He cursed him, blindly, in a language he did not understand, and he looped his cane around his neck like a shepherd would herd a sheep.

The crowd watched as he braced a foot against the back of his victim's head, and the sound of snapping vertebrae was lost in the music; he would reserve his cruelty for the chess masters, lest he waste it on the pawns.

The body crumpled to the floor, and he stood alone as the crowd ran in an outward arc of panic, the music continuing unabated. He scanned the crowd. From his position at the bar he could see the entire club, and all the walkways that comprised the second level.

The other assassins revealed themselves one by one; the crowd tried to distance themselves from him, and like rocks through crashing waves, they stood still against the rush. First three of them, then five, then nine emerged from the retreating mob and their eyes, set on him, shone like the tips of daggers.

He surveyed his foes: they were male, female, human and faunus, but all were young. They wore little clothing in the hot club, tanks and shorts, and though their muscled skin shone with sweat, they bore few tattoos. Roman recognized none of them, and combined with the nondescript black canes they carried, he knew he was facing fresh blood, brought in to replace the operatives Giovane had betrayed and slaughtered. The operatives he'd known.

The rookies closed in on him with focused steps. Their eyes were fierce, but he could see through their every trained ruse. He saw the disorganization in their movements, the shaking of the weapons in their hands, and the furtive, uneasy glances at the body of their fallen, eyeless comrade at his feet.

He stepped over the corpse, and his opponents stopped. One spat on the ground in contempt. Another paled at the sight of the body, and Roman watched their Adam's apple bob as they gulped.

"Traitor!" one of them screamed. Roman shot him a measured glare, and the assassin took a step backward, silent. He looked at the others. Roman did not. He leveled his cane at the assassin who had called him out, and grinned.

"You ever heard of me, punk?" he winked as he spoke over the music, "Or did Gelb just tell you I would be an easy check?"

The assassin spun his cane in his hand and snarled.

"Sorry I don't have anything wittier at the moment. Frankly, you look a little scared, but don't worry… you should be."

The assassins fell upon him in a disorganized mob; their moves were sharp, their footwork practiced, but they lacked coordination, and Roman slipped between their gaps. He fell behind two of them and struck at the group while he had their flank, driving them apart with quick strikes to their aura.

Black Circle operatives were trained to work solo, in pairs of two, or in teams of four. Roman was outnumbered nine to one, but the rookie operatives were only crippling themselves; in such close proximity to one another they were limited to a handful of basic moves and parries, and all he had to do was catch an attack and use the momentum to guide the attacker stumbling into their allies. He then punished them for their lack of focus by whipping them with his cane, and they clutched their limbs, swearing in pain and fear.

A few of them were talented, but his aura protected him from glancing attacks that managed to connect while he cut his enemies' defenses down. It wasn't long though before they realized their disadvantage and retreated; four of them attacked in two pairs of two, and he was forced onto the defensive as they rushed him using tandem combos. He retreated back towards the bar, now vacated, and his enemies were forced into chasing him. One got too close; she stepped for him, and he caught her attack, threw the hook of his weapon around her neck, and snapped her into the floor, shattering the tile and killing her. He killed another in a similar fashion, but a third saved himself with a clumsy but timely dodge.

The remaining assailants tried to encircle him, but once he reached the bar his back was covered. He reached behind him and flung the first glass he grabbed at his nearest opponent, and the man shattered it midair with his own cane. The blow left him open however, and Roman disarmed him, took his aura with a quick combination, and his life with a twisting capture of his neck. Two opponents rushed him and he rolled sideways over the bar. With them now at point blank range he fired his weapon's grappling hook, where it struck one of their foreheads, and they crumpled. The other was taken off guard, an easy target as he hooked their head and slammed it into the corner of the counter.

He vaulted through the opening in his dwindling opponents, but they quickly surrounded him. He hissed as a direct blow to his bicep was deflected by his aura, and he lashed out with a quick counterattack, but the attacker parried and retreated; the more of them he killed, the more room the assassins had to maneuver. The fear in their eyes, however, had grown as their comrades fell. As a distraction, he was succeeding, but he was tiring, and his heart was heaving from the mismatched fight. He would be no use dead, not to Neo nor Folly; he needed a new angle.

He flipped his weapon in his grip and aimed the handle for the closest upper level walkway and fired his grappling hook above his enemies' heads. One saw the opening and attacked, but Roman grabbed the weapon in a gloved fist. His hook snagged the illuminated railing, and he sailed upwards towards the railing, taking the unfortunate assassin with him. The group rolled out of their way, shouting but doing nothing to save their hapless ally as Roman kicked them into the floor; there was a short scream, and then their momentum uprooted several tiles in an explosion of plaster and glass.

In spite of the circumstances, it did occur to Roman that he was presently in the midst of the most stylish getaway of his life. He snickered to himself, but his satisfaction was short lived as he shot towards the walkway, pulled along by Melodic Cudgel's cable, only to see a pair of icy blue eyes watching him from atop the railing. His shoes slammed against the edge of the walkway, and there he hung, inches away from her, her tattooed hand holding a curved, kukri-style blade to his tether.

He recognized her immediately; pure blonde hair in two voluminous twintails made her appear larger than she was, which was only inches taller than Neo. She wore only an armored brassiere, but her pale torso was covered by full-sleeve Grimm designs, and the linework of a Wyvern on her stomach that reached to the waist of her shiny black pants. Her face, freckled, and smug, wore a sideways smile, and up close, it was apparent that her blue eyes were, in reality, blue-hued contact lenses.

Roman gave her compact body a once-over, and he caught a trace of cheap cigarette from her hair as he followed with a deliberate whistle.

"Hey, Sascha," he shrugged, "Long time, no smash."

Amusement crossed Sascha Morozny's features.

"Hiya, Roman."

She winked, and her kukri's blade went alight, red with Burn Dust. She severed the cable with a single movement, and Roman felt his stomach lurch as he plummeted to the floor below. He landed with an awkward roll, a hand atop his hat, and hissed as the impact with the ground bit into his aura. The assassins stood in a circle around him, each keeping a fair distance away. The floor was wet, with either blood or drinks spilled in the commotion, and in the corners of the club, past the assassins that surrounded him, groups of people were gathered cowering in the darkness.

He rose, and outside the circle to his left, he saw Sascha drop from the walkway above. She carried her umbrella in her hand, where her sheathed kukri served as its unorthodox handle, and she landed with catlike grace.

Roman looked dejectedly at the remains of his weapon in his grip. Without it's handle, Melodic Cudgel was incapable of grappling, firing, or countering. He might as well have been holding a polished club.

"Sorry," Sascha lamented, "It's just business. This might _look_ fun for me, but it's really not."

Two assassins made a space for her in the circle; they were all of varying heights, but she was the smallest, limber and short, even with the aid of large, heeled boots.

Roman attempted a sarcastic grin, but it came off as more of a grimace.

"Of course, Sascha; we did promise to keep everything _professional_ between us, after all…"

He flipped the remains of Melodic Cudgel in his hand, and the entire circle tensed, save for Sascha, who blinked unfazed. The diminutive, high-pitched woman stood with her weapon over her shoulder, her other hand on one exposed hip, and a sour grin on her face.

"…But if that's the case, our business here isn't finished: gimme Folly, right now, and no more of these kids will have to die here ton-"

He was cutoff midsentence, as the entire circle's attention was drawn to an incoherent shouting from the direction of the DJ's booth. Sascha frowned, her lip curling.

"I said: Turn! The fucking! _Music!_ _OFF!_ "

The top of a neon wig rose from behind the seemingly unoccupied turntables overlooking the club, and one hand took hold of the needle atop a spinning record. The club fell silent with a loud scratch, the DJ disappeared back behind their booth, and Roman was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the ringing in his ears. In the silence, his adversaries' every movement was perceptible, both the rustle of their clothing, and the rush of their breath.

"Thank you!" sounded the voice again, exasperated.

The circle of assassins cleared another opening, but Roman already knew that voice: he came striding from the back of the club in an ever-present slouch, his hands shoved inside the pockets of a pair of jogging pants, where a miniature cane dangled from a loose belt. He wore an old Beacon Academy blazer around his shoulders, where it billowed behind his scrawny frame like a cape, and obscured the majority of his tattoos exposed by his white tank top. His hair was dirty blonde, slicked, and he smirked with youthful features aged forward by constant smoking, with a lit cigarette between his teeth.

Roman sighed, deeply and dismally.

"Roman, you showed!"

Gelb Marigold withdrew his hands from his pockets and clapped them before removing the cigarette from his mouth, "Oh man, I've been looking forward to this!"

"Glad one of us was," Roman muttered.

Gelb was still approaching the circle, and it wasn't clear if he'd heard or simply chosen to ignore it.

"I was pumped up all day," he said, "Course, I didn't expect you to walk through the front door and start tearing the place apart, but I understand if you didn't want to bring Collette along as your date; you wouldn't want Folly to see you with little miss Snake-eyes, and get all jealous!"

Roman shot Sascha a look, and she met him with a low shake of her head. Her face was stone.

"So… what did they tell you people I did, again?" Roman gestured carefully to the entire circle, "And tell me, Gelb, was there a reason for getting Folly involved? Or were the plastic flowers, body spray, and dick pics just not getting through to her?"

Gelb glowered for a moment before his smirk returned.

"What you did?" he laughed sharply, "Does it fucking matter!? After we're through with your turncoat ass, _all_ of us are getting handed promotions!"

Roman looked to the nearest assassin, a young man with tan skin and a deathstalker tattoo.

"You can all walk away," he offered, "You think this guy's legit? I'd recommend it while you still have the cha-"

"Did I fucking stutter!?" Gelb spread his hands, and the cigarette in his fingers trailed a plume of smoke, "These acolytes are all getting sworn in, and me, Collette, and Sascha here? One of us is getting that sweet desk Gio left behind! Cash money, bitch!"

Sascha exhaled loudly. Roman surveyed his enemies, but none of them looked ready to run. Contrarily, one look at each of them told him they were thirsting for vengeance. A young woman behind him leered with teary eyes, and he couldn't blame her; the fallen that bled on the dance floor had been their friends. In a way, he admired them, but their unquestioning loyalty made Gelb's boasting that much harder to tolerate.

The image of Folly's severed hand flashed in his mind, and he clenched a gloved fist.

"Speaking of Snake-eyes!" Gelb snapped his fingers, "Where the hell is she? She said she made contact with you, and then ghosted me."

"Why don't you hand over Folly first? We can make a trade, the old-fashioned way."

"No man; Folly is a trade for _you_ ," Gelb spoke with exaggerated condescendence, "What? Did you forget how hostage exchange works while you were _dead_ or whatever the fuck?"

"Alright, alright…"

Roman reached a hand into his coat pocket. He tossed, underhand, and Collette's severed, forked tongue landed at Gelb's feet with a bloody _splat_. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"

Sascha snarled in disgust. The surrounding acolytes were appalled, and the tan-skinned young man turned around, failing to contain his stomach. Gelb took a step back, his pale face uneasy, and on any other day Roman Torchwick would have laughed: _any_ other day.

"Let Folly go," he demanded, "I'm not surrendering. So: either I take her and walk, or I'll rip off more than just your tongue, you conceited little punk."

Gelb stared at the severed appendage for several moments. Slowly he regained his smile, then he started to laugh, and he sounded like Collette had moments before she'd lost her tongue.

"So, Snake-eyes is dead, huh?" he chuckled, "I gotta thank you, Roman, I really do. See this was her operation, but if she's dead, then it looks like the _burden_ of command falls to me."

He squashed his cigarette underfoot, and another was already en route to his mouth.

"Now all I have to do is kill you, and this mess is all taken care of. Whatever happens to Folly after that, is up to me…"

He lit the cigarette, and Sascha's nose wrinkled, possibly from the smell.

"…Hey Roman," Gelb leaned in, "Does she like leashes?"

All gazes were drawn towards the ceiling; by the sudden, deafening sound of shattering glass, as a single sports cycle crashed through a window above with the roar of fuel and exhaust. Two more followed moments later, then four, all of them shiny black and painted with crimson, Eastern Mistralian script. The circle scattered as the bikes crashed into the floor and through the catwalks, sending sparks and glass shards in all directions, in a cacophony of twisted metal and panicked screams.

The acolytes reoriented themselves with the new threat, and Roman watched the riders dismount their bikes before they hit the floor with graceful flips. They wore black suits and crimson ties, with opaque visors on their shiny helmets, and every one of them landed with perfect acrobatic trajectory in an organized formation. Six of them held submachine guns in their gloved hands, but only their leader, with one jacket sleeve trailing behind them, landed in a crouch, and unsheathed a familiar curved, crimson blade with a decorative mechanical arm.  
"What the flying fuck!?" Gelb snarled, "Sascha! What the fuck is going on!"

Sascha brandished her angled blade, her eyes focused on the invaders, and she seemed not to hear him. The innocents, still huddled in the corners of the club, tried to run, but the helmeted bikers opened fire with warning volleys; their compact weapons were silenced, but their bullets struck glass and walls in strident, violent bursts, and the crowds stayed put. The lead biker stood, and her tall, feminine frame confirmed what Roman already knew the moment she'd drawn her sword.

The club was still. All combatants faced each other in a lopsided standoff, silent and tense. A sound came from the direction of the bar, and all heads focused on the form of a man staggering across the dance floor, towards the lead biker. Her helmet pivoted to watch his approach; the six men behind her trained their weapons on him, but she raised her organic arm, and they held their fire.

Roman squinted, and recognized the drunken Hong Zhao that had attempted to socialize earlier with him at the bar. Even from several feet away he smelled vile.

"Bai! Oh thank goodnesh!" He cried, stumbling, and stopped feet away from the silent, helmeted biker, her hand still outstretched.

"I wash a prishoner!" he panted, "I'm sho glad you're here! They kept… feeding me drinksh!"

Her fingers snapped, and a hail of gunfire from six different submachine guns tore into him on cue. The rounds traveled through his corpse, and struck the ground near Roman and the acolyte's feet with unpleasant explosions of glass shards. The body fell at Bai Xiong's feet, the visor of her helmet splattered with blood, and only when he lay still did she peel it off with one hand. She shook her tight, long ponytail free; even after being inside her helmet, not a strand was out of place. Needing it no longer, she dumped her helmet onto the corpse, her face betraying only a light sneer, and while her men focused their aim on the Circle acolytes, she surveyed them with the same, calm disdain. Then the lizard design on her cheek distorted slightly as she grinned.

"Ladies, gentlemen…" she gestured with her arm but focused on Roman, "… _Rats_ , this club now belongs to the Hong Zhao!"

"Like hell it does!" Gelb drew his weapon, and the press of a button made the small cane double in length with a metallic _schick_.

"Fuck on outta here! This is my club, bitch!"

Bai gave him a judging once-over and snorted. When she spoke, she did so in her characteristic Mistralian accent.

"You want to step up, rabbit?" she twirled her blade and shrugged slyly, "I could use a warm-up."

The Hong Zhao at her back shook with amused laughter underneath their helmets.

"Ugh, you're kidding, right…?" Sascha murmured under her breath.

Roman glanced at the half of his weapon he still possessed, and then, with some hesitation, at the elite Hong Zhao hit squad assembled opposite a handful of poorly-trained acolytes and three infighting, arguing operatives. The notion that someone had engineered this meeting was utterly ridiculous to consider, but random chance was only marginally more believable.

"For fuck's sake…" he breathed, "…You cannot be serious."

* * *

They emerged into the alleyway with sighs of relief; the journey back had been free of encounters, but the corridors had been heavy, pressing down upon her, and Neo only noticed just how much as she and Folly took in the night air. The alleyway still smelled like trash, but the night was crisp and cool, and a light snowfall had begun to frost the ground with white.

She couldn't enjoy it however; Folly collapsed against the wall, cradling her maimed limb with shuddering breaths. Neo reached up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

 _We have to keep moving. Rest quickly._

"Neo…" she said, "I don't what I can do to thank you for this…"

Neo shook her head, kindly but urgently.

"Roman came too, didn't he?"

She nodded.

"I see. I can…" Folly glanced painfully at her hand with an unfocused eye, "I can get to the hospital from here. I'll just tell them they kidnapped me… I might have someone I can call to pick me up too, before the Circle knows… where I went."

Neo squeezed Folly's shoulder encouragingly; she was impressed by the artist's stoicism, but her words were hollow of the energy she'd had just hours before. She tried to ignore the observation, and the twisting in her gut that came with it.

She whipped her head around, scanning the alley for threats before lightly thumping the wall of the building.

Folly sighed, "He probably walked right in, didn't he?"

Neo shrugged quickly.

"Okay…"

She nodded, and with a painful grimace, pushed off the wall with her one good arm.

"You go get Roman. He'll know which hospital I went to, but I'll try to reach him by scroll. Be safe, and don't... don't die."

Neo started to assent, but Folly grabbed her shoulder firmly. Her hand was adorned with a crimson poppy.

 _"Neither_ of you, okay? And, um…"

There was a pause, and Neo was unsure of what to do.

"This isn't your fault," Folly managed, straining, "I… I still have one. That's more than I would have had if…"

Neo squeezed the hand resting on her shoulder, and forced herself to meet Folly's one open eye.

 _You should hurry._

"Yeah," Folly smiled, and turned away. She started off in the direction Neo had first come from, as briskly as she could manage hampered by agony and shock, and turned one final time.

"Oh!" she called, "And give them fucking Hell for me!"  
At that Neo grinned. She dragged a thumb slowly across her throat.

 _Like they've never imagined._

She watched until Folly was out of sight, and then let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Folly was safe, or she would be as soon as she got away from Uforia. Folly would have to be, Neo thought, because now Roman needed her. If he was still alive, he needed her.

She stood there, in the alleyway, under the single light, as the snow fell onto her hair and onto her shoulders. She shivered, and not from the cold.

Something should have gone wrong by now. It always did; there were no guards in the basement, and in the taxi Roman had told her how important Uforia was as a base of operations for the Circle, meaning that they were all after him. Roman was good, but he'd almost died in their escape from The Maw, many times. If they were all trained like him, he couldn't fight them all.

 _You're scared. You don't want to find his corpse._

She swallowed and breathed in the smell of the snowfall. She had to go in, and she had to do it now. She would go back into the basement, and find her way to Roman. Then they would fight their way out, just like before.

 _Just like before._

There was a sound behind her, and a chill raced up her spine. Neo spun on her heel, weapon at the ready with the blade halfway drawn. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it wasn't what she saw; a sanguine, shrouded vortex in the darkness of the alleyway, from the depths of which stepped a single boot.

A tall, feminine figure soon emerged from the portal, a distance away. She wore red, loose clothing, with segmented, armored gauntlets and leggings that exposed toned, pale thighs. The belt around her skirt was adorned with ammunition pouches, with black feathers on one hip, and a metal scabbard on the other with a light that emitted a red glow. A mane of shaggy, black hair surrounded a mask, white as the moon, with curving red paint that flowed like rivers of blood, and it reminded Neo of the Nevermore.

She felt it in her hands first: A creeping, piercing chill, which robbed her fingers of feeling. It traveled up her arms, and through her entire body; the woman's mask was familiar somehow, and she saw it reflected, distorted through the prism of a shattered memory. She looked like something inhuman: not a Grimm, but likewise misshapen, and just as unwelcome in this world.

The portal dissipated behind her. The woman closed the distance between them at a deliberate pace, each footstep audible, and Neo felt her breath leave her chest in shallow gasps as she came closer. The mask made her head hurt, and she smelled fire. Though around her, nothing burned.

 _Don't run! Think. Maybe she's here for Folly._

The woman stopped at the edge of the light, several paces away. Crimson eyes blinked behind the mask as both women studied the other in silence. Neo's body did not feel like her own; was the woman merely a nightmare?

She let herself blink, and breathed, refocusing. The mask turned, and glanced at the weapon in her hands: a parasol, the weapon of a Black Circle operative. When she looked back into Neo's eyes, one hand went to her scabbard.

"You're in my way."

The woman's voice was like a blade, and Neo felt its edge on her skin. She breathed through gritted teeth.

 _No! She's here for you! Stand your ground!_

Before Neo could draw her blade the woman drew her own: a curved, crimson sword that glinted in the light. There was a click as the segmented blade doubled in length, and the woman leveled the mighty edge at her with a single, steady hand.

Neo drew her blade with an impulse motion; it could have been her mind, tricking her, lying to her, but her needle-like short sword looked like merely a thorn against the woman's crimson claw.

The woman tilted her head. She slid her foot along the ground, widening her stance. Neo watched the snowflakes collect on the tip of her crimson sword.

"Fine, you make your peace…" the woman said, "…And I'll make this quick."

* * *

 **If you're a new follower, the cover art you see is recent at the time of this chapter's upload. Drawn by Jhincx-Faust, and let me tell you about this dude for a second: He's fair, friendly, professional, and talented as they come. I wouldn't be doing my due diligence as a grateful author if I didn't tell you to follow him on his Facebook, DeviantART, and other various outlets he has. He's awesome, and I'm considering commissioning him for cover art for my other stories~**

 **It's been a while, but I still have not given up this story, nor do I have intentions to. Of course, it's gestated in my head for almost two years now, so I really don't have a choice in whether or not I leave it alone. But, you guys do: I want to thank you all for following my work, even if my updates are continuously delayed by life. They might take a long time, but you guys will always have new chapters, as there is plenty more to come. That being stated, this chapter took a particularly long time mainly due to two things:**

 **1). My indulgence in other creative endeavors: my band, having worked hard for years, are close to releasing our single, and**

 **2). I was struggling, and took a break from my writing to game, cosplay, and otherwise gain inspiration, but all the while this story never left my head, constantly shifting and evolving as I went about my life.**

 **When I came back to it, I felt more driven and focused. The next chapter is underway, in conjunction with a second chapter for my Persona 5 fluffy fic _Royal Flush_ as well as a new, kinky High School of the Dead fic.**

 **Special thanks to: Coffee, Battlefield, Overwatch, Dingwall, and anime conventions where I can dress like 2B and get faded**

 **I like you guys**

 **-Rampag3**


End file.
